


Beyond Sight

by Gizzwhizz



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Amnesia, Gen, Invisibility, M/M, Magic, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Burn, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-03 12:16:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21179270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gizzwhizz/pseuds/Gizzwhizz
Summary: Cursed to be invisible, Prompto spent ten years as Lestallum's Spirit of the Market. Unacknowledged, Unheard. Unseen.Until the fateful day when a blind stranger grabbed his arm and changed his life forever.Written for the 2019 Promnis Big Bang





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2019 Promnis Big Bang.
> 
> Inspired by a post from r/showerthoughts: "A blind person and an invisible person would have a perfectly normal relationship."
> 
> Breathtaking Cover Art by [Scarlett!](https://twitter.com/katyscarart)
> 
> Beta'd by my bestie [SunshineandSnark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodApollo27/pseuds/SunshineAndSnark) ♡
> 
> Please enjoy what I hope is a unique tale of blossoming love.

Prompto knew only two things in the beginning. One was that he was alone. And the other was that the night wasn't safe. Terrible monsters roamed when the sun set. He had never seen them, but he knew they were there. 

He wasn't sure exactly when it started. His memories only seemed to stretch back so far. Only to a day when a boy found himself alone by the side of the road with no idea of how he'd gotten there or where he'd come from. His parents, if he'd ever had any, were nowhere to be found. In fact, he couldn't even picture them: faceless people who barely existed in his mind. 

And so, with nothing else to do, he started walking. 

He remembered that the road was long and dusty, seemingly made even longer by his short legs. He also remembered the cars that rumbled past, completely oblivious to his shouts or wild attempts to wave his arms. They either didn't see the lost child at the side of the road or didn't care. Eventually, he gave up trying to gain their attention. When he reached a tunnel in the road, at first he was too terrified to go in. It was so dark inside and the second truth he knew included the fact that darkness was bad. But his stomach was tying itself in knots with hunger and something tickled at the back of his mind, a suspicion that safety lay on the other side if only he could reach it. 

He ran through the tunnel. He wasn't used to running, and though it made his legs ache and his lungs burn, he refused to stop. It was as if he was trying to outrun the darkness itself, and in a way, he was, as the circle of light at the other end grew gradually larger and larger. He had nearly reached it when light suddenly washed over him from behind and he threw himself against the wall of the tunnel out of pure instinct. The car whizzed past him close enough to ruffle his hair and clothes, without the blast of a horn or any sign that it had even seen him at all. And for a moment all he could do was stare after it, heart thundering in his throat. As its lights disappeared into the blinding daylight, however, the fear of darkness began to creep over him again and at last he peeled himself away from the brick wall and stumbled the last few yards back out into the welcoming warmth of the sun. 

Lestallum lay ahead of him. He didn't know why he knew the name, just as he didn't know why he knew of the goblins and other daemons that lurked in the dark. Rather than question it, however, he simply kept moving, hunger driving him to the first food stall he could see, sitting among the rows of parked cars before the city proper. 

Chunks of glazed meat sizzled and glistened on wooden skewers. He watched a customer hand over a few coins in exchange for one of the skewers. Prompto dug into his pockets instinctively, only to find them empty. He had no money. His heart sank, but even so he lingered beside the line of customers, waiting to be noticed and praying that the stall owner might take pity on him. He waited for what felt like a very long time, but even after the line had disappeared, the man cooking the skewers never looked over at him. 

"Excuse me," Prompto finally squeaked. His voice was rough and hoarse, as though he had not used it in a very long time. When the man only turned to add more meat to his grill, Prompto cleared his throat and tried again. 

"Excuse me!" 

"Hello?" The old man's head whipped around, but his eyes moved right over Prompto without stopping. Dumbstruck, Prompto watched him turn in a circle and scratch his head. 

"I could have sworn…" the man muttered, but trailed off as he turned back to his grill. Confused, Prompto could only stand there, stubbornly holding back the frustrated tears that rose to his eyes while his stomach gurgled and growled. It wasn't until another customer approached that Prompto's irritation at being ignored finally won out. 

"Excuse me!" he shouted at last, stepping forward to tug on the stall keeper's greasy apron. Both he and his customer jumped, a skewer of meat falling to the ground between them. 

"What in blazes!" the old man yelped, batting at his apron as though it were on fire. 

"My goodness!" the woman he'd been serving said at the same time with a hand on her breast. "I could have sworn I heard a voice!" 

Prompto sat on the ground between them, having fallen when the man had jumped away from him so violently. For the first time, he noticed something. He couldn't see his legs stretched out before him. He couldn't see his hands resting in his lap either. He couldn't see any part of himself. 

There was nothing there. 

His eyes fell on the skewer of meat that had been dropped in the dust, next. By the time the stall keeper and his customer had recovered from their shock, the fallen skewer had disappeared as well.


	2. Chapter 1

Time passed. It was hard to tell how much, when Prompto had no way to measure the change in his own appearance. He could see the changes in those around him, however. Adults gained wrinkles and a touch of gray to their hair, teenagers became full-fledged adults in their own right, and the other children in the city grew steadily taller in fits and bursts.

Prompto measured his own growth in how much easier it became to reach the various stalls in Lestallum’s market.

Roughly ten years had passed in that way, or as near as he could tell. Prompto had long ago given up on the idea that anyone might finally take notice of him. When he tugged on a sleeve, the owner was startled but assumed it was the wind or that their clothing had been caught on a non-existent stray nail. His voice was always dismissed as something misheard or even imagined. Even the few times he’d run smack into an adult’s legs, all it had really done was cause a lot of shouting and chaos (and more than once gotten him accidentally kicked or hit in the resulting flailing). These days he rarely talked, even to himself, and he’d mastered the art of slipping through the crowds without touching anyone.

He had become a ghost.

Lestallum was warm, even at night, and daemons rarely ever ventured inside the walls, so it was never a hardship to find a safe alley to sleep in. In fact, he was far from the only inhabitant of the city who did so. During the day, Prompto would drift through the maze of stone steps that made up the city and observe its citizens, both the fixtures like the rather large jolly man who was forever fanning himself in the city’s heat (and from whom Prompto had “borrowed” his current shirt from a pile the man was selling one day), and the constant flow of strangers that streamed through town for supplies or to attend the various cultural festivals that sprung up throughout the year.

Inevitably, though, Prompto always found himself drawn to the market. The crowds were always densest at the market, but that also made it less startling if he did happen to bump into anyone: they simply assumed it was some other stranger squeezing through. When this odd new way of life had begun, Prompto was a child who would have balked at the idea of stealing. Once upon a time, he had tried his hardest to avoid it, even when the hunger pangs grew so bad that it felt as if his stomach was turning itself inside out and he was nearly too lightheaded to walk.

These days, however, he knew better. Trying to buy anything honestly was impossible when you couldn’t gain a shopkeeper’s attention and he rarely had any gil, besides. When he did have a few coins he’d managed to salvage from where they’d fallen on the dusty ground, they always found their way into a seller’s pocket in exact change for whatever bit of food he’d had to filch that day. Other days, he made up the difference in other ways.

A shop keeper would close up for the night, for example, and come back the next morning to find that someone had painstaking patched their ancient and frayed cotton awning. Another might mention to a customer that he needed to find something for his daughter’s birthday only to discover sometime later that someone had left a cute if crudely carved wooden figurine in the corner of his stall.

Strangely enough, while Prompto and the things he took often went overlooked in the bustle of the market, his good deeds did not. Soon enough, some were claiming that the market was looked over by a benevolent spirit. A few stall owners even went so far in their superstition as to leave small offerings to the spirit, such as a bowl of nuts or the last unsold skewers of the day. Prompto’s need to steal decreased dramatically after that, a fact that he was quite grateful for.

Still, he was a growing boy and he needed more than a bit of nuts and meat ever few days. He did his best, though, to repay everything he took. In fact, a good deal of his time was taken up with the running tally he kept in his head of what he’d taken and what he might offer in exchange. It was a good way to pass the time, given that he was utterly isolated even in the largest of crowds.

That is precisely what he was doing one particularly sweltering afternoon—reaching for an apple and mentally calculating what he might do for the fruit seller in return—when his entire existence shattered.

Hot leather wrapped around his wrist. Prompto stared dumbly at the gloved hand clenched around thin air, the long fingers forming a perfect tunnel around his invisible arm. The apple dropped, forgotten, into the dust.

“I do hope you intend to pay for that,” a voice said in a polished accent he’d never heard before. It took Prompto longer than it should have to register that the person was talking to _him_. No one had talked to him in…well, he couldn’t remember anyone ever talking to him, actually.

Prompto’s head moved slowly, as if he were submerged in molasses. His gaze traveled from the glove up the sleeve of a perfectly tailored jacket, a rare sight in the unbearable heat of the city, and finally landed on a face that was all dark glasses above a sharp nose and angular cheeks. The man might have been Prompto’s age, or he might have been ten years older, it was impossible to tell. Prompto got the sense that he had rather full, sensual lips, though they were drawn thin in disapproval at the moment.

“Stealing is never the most becoming option,” the man continued talking while Prompto stared into tinted lenses that of course offered no reflection. They were darker than the ones he sometimes saw tourists wear. And there was a stick in the man’s free hand. No, he couldn’t be…

“Although,” the man said, some of the ice melting from his tone as he gave Prompto’s wrist another squeeze, “you do feel quite boney.”

Prompto laughed and startled himself with the sound of his own laughter, his own voice rough and strange to his ears after years of neglect.

He’d been caught by a blind man.

Everything that happened next was somewhat of a blur. The man didn’t bother to lecture him further, but instead selected an apple of his own. Prompto watched him tug the glove off of his free hand with his teeth, the other still firmly gripping Prompto’s wrist, and feel several of the available fruits before he was finally satisfied. Wordlessly he held his hand out and it took Prompto a moment to realize he wanted the apple that Prompto had dropped. Prompto hastily retrieved it from the ground and watched as the man paid for both apples. They were handed back in a paper bag which was gracefully accepted before the man took up his stick again and half dragged Prompto into the shade of one of the smaller alleys running like capillaries away from the main artery of the market.

Only then did the man release his hold on Prompto. He had to swallow at the powerful sense of loss. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched him intentionally, even if the contact had been dampened a bit by the supple leather glove.

“Well, go on, then,” the man said, handing Prompto his apple and taking a great crunching bite of his own. “They are quite good, especially in this heat.” For a long moment Prompto could only stare dumbly at the apple in his hand, as if he’d forgotten exactly what to do with it. When the man took a second bite, however, his stomach took over for his mind and he didn’t even bother to rub the dust off on his shirt before he sunk his own teeth into the crisp green fruit. His eyes closed as he chewed and tart juice filled his mouth. He hadn’t eaten in two days. It wasn’t unheard of for him to go more than a day without food, but it was rare. One of the local farms had taken a heavy blow to their harvest from daemons this year and the market was likewise feeling the pinch.

For a few minutes they simply ate in nearly companionable silence. Prompto devoured his apple, licking the juice from his fingers and leaving only the barest hint of a core. He seemed to remember hearing as a child that it was bad to eat the seeds, or he wouldn’t have spared even that slim sliver of his prize. When he looked up, the blind stranger beside him had left considerably more pale flesh around the middle of his apple. Prompto eyed it and fidgeted. He was terribly tempted to ask if he could nibble on what remained, but somehow he thought that might be rude. Even if it wasn’t, he still didn’t quite believe that this man really thought he existed. Any moment he expected the man to turn and walk way, dismissing him as a figment of his imagination the way everyone else always did.

Just as he was trying to work up the courage to say _something_, the stranger spoke first and nearly made him drop his apple core.

“My name is, Ignis, by the way,” he said, self-consciously running his gloved hand over his chin to catch any spare juice. “Ignis Scientia.” Prompto was too busy watching a drop of precious juice slide down the black leather to realize that Ignis had inclined his head towards him, no doubt waiting for a response. A jolt ran through his entire body when he realized his mistake, making him slam his shoulder painfully into the brick wall beside him.

“I’m P-Prompto,” he managed around a cough. Talking was…strange. It made his throat feel tight and too dry. He wished he had another apple, or some water. “Argentum,” he added belatedly after another attempt to clear his throat. He didn’t know how he knew his name, just as he couldn’t remember who had given it to him. He only knew that he had one and that “Prompto Argentum” was it. One of Ignis’ eyebrows rose above his glasses and dread made Prompto’s stomach churn unpleasantly. Had he said something wrong?

“How odd,” Ignis said, quietly enough that Prompto knew he was speaking mostly to himself. “Based on our travels, names seem to very a great deal in the rest of Lucis. But that sounds like an Insomnian name.” He tilted his head inquisitively at Prompto. “Do you live here? In Lestallum?”

Prompto opened and closed his mouth several times. He’d noticed it, too. He’d heard names here and there in snippets of conversation: Vyv, Dino, Holly, Cindy, Kenny. He knew his own name didn’t fit, which would suggest he wasn’t from Lestallum, though he’d never lived anywhere else. How could he possibly explain, though? The memory loss, the solitude, the _invisibility_…

“Yes,” he finally said, in nearly a whisper. “I live here,” he clarified and coughed again. The more words he spoke, the easier they came, though there was a warm ache beginning to form just beneath his chin. “Now. I don’t remember before.”

Rather than respond to that admittedly cryptic piece of information, Ignis hummed and tried to adjust his glasses with the hand still holding his spent apple. He muttered under his breath when the core bumped his frames and let out a frustrated huff of air, turning his head this way and that for a moment before finally extending his hand to Prompto.

“Would you mind…?” he began. Prompto had taken the apple core before Ignis could even finish the question and nearly tripped as he raced to the nearest garbage can. He sank his teeth into what was left of Ignis’ apple as he stood before the dumpster, stripping the last of the fruit’s flesh before finally disposing of both cores. He only made it halfway back before he nearly tripped over his own feet.

Ignis had removed his glasses—though Prompto could hardly understand why when the man would never see any smudges on them—and was cleaning them with a cloth. Now Prompto could see a thick brown scar covering one eye and sealing it shut. The other looked unharmed, but the iris under the half-closed lid was milky and colorless.

“What happened to your eyes?” he found himself asking as he drifted back over.

“An accident,” Ignis said simply, offering him a perfectly disarming smile. “It happened some time ago. In the line of duty. An occupational hazard, I’m afraid.” Prompto could only stare. He’d seen people who had lost an arm or a leg at the power plant sleeping in the streets alongside him throughout the years, but never anything like this.

“What kind of occupation?” he wondered. It was only after the words had left his mouth that he slapped a hand over his lips. Too late. “I’m sorry,” he gasped, tripping over his own words. He was definitely being rude now, but nearly a decade of self-imposed silence made his brain sluggish at conversation, not that that was any excuse.

“Not at all,” Ignis said easily, slipping the glasses back into place and tugging his glove back on. He secured it in place with a _snap_ that rang through the air. “It was in service to the King. Well, he was the crowned prince at the time. I’m his Royal Advisor.”

Prompto’s head swam from more than just hunger. The world grew fuzzy and he heard Ignis say his name again at the same moment that his shoulder collided with the hard brick once more. Ignis’ voice sounded wrong, thin and too far away, but then Prompto was sliding down the wall to sit heavily on the ground and darkness swallowed him completely.

* * *

“Can’t you see he needs water?”

“Er…young man…”

“…must be confused…”

“…no one there…”

The voices came to him first, dragging him back into consciousness. Prompto blinked the grit from his eyes, one cheek pressed against the filthy cobblestones. There was a stick lying in front of him. No, a cane. Ignis’ cane. Then he tried to shift and felt a weight on his shoulder. Ignis’ hand.

Prompto swallowed and lifted his head enough to see the other man crouched beside him, his face pinched with worry.

“Why won’t any of you help him?” Ignis demanded. He sounded almost frantic, almost pleading. Prompto may have only known him for a few minutes, but that was long enough to know that the tone was _wrong_. With a groan, he lifted his head and tried to shrug off Ignis’ hold to sit up. Rather than releasing him, however, Prompto felt another hand against his back, helping to prop him up against the wall.

“’M fine,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “It’s hot and I got dizzy. That’s all.” If anyone in the small crowd that had formed around him heard the words, they didn’t react. Not that Prompto had expected them to. Ignis, on the other hand, let out a breath in a hiss through his teeth.

“You’re light as a bird. That apple was your first meal in days,” he surmised. It wasn’t a question so Prompto didn’t bother to confirm it.

“Here, mister,” a timid looking shop girl interjected, holding out a bottle of water that already had a fine film of condensation. “The water you asked for…” Her eyebrows were stuck somewhere between confusion and worry, but she held the bottle out all the same and even blushed a bit when Ignis accepted it with a word of thanks. Her expression finally settled on incredulous when Ignis unscrewed the cap and held the bottle out to Prompto, seemingly to thin air.

The thought of how foolish Ignis must look in that moment made Prompto cringe.

With Ignis no longer barking orders at them, the onlookers began to disperse, muttering about how travelers to the city needed to take more care in the heat. The shop girl was one of the last to go, her mouth opened in a wordless question until one of the older stall owners tugged her away as well.

“Maybe he’s talking to the Spirit of the Market,” Prompto heard one of them mutter, earning the man a chorus of half-stifled laughter.

Alone in the alley once more, Prompto sighed and finally took the bottle from Ignis. It was cold enough to make his hand ache and the first gulp sent a spike of pain through his head.

“Brain freeze,” he muttered before Ignis could ask and took care to sip more slowly after that. When half the bottle was gone he sighed and lowered it, watching the bottle hover a few inches above the ground where he held it. Most objects he held remained visible, unless they were small. Except for his clothes—as long as he was wearing them at any rate. The sight was a familiar one, but now, for the first time in years, it looked strange and even terrifying to watch the water bottle floating above the ground.

He shifted his gaze and found Ignis, glaring behind his sunglasses. He wasn’t glaring _at_ Prompto, exactly, but the sharp draw of his brow made his expression obvious even with his face half hidden behind the tinted lenses.

“Um…listen,” Prompto began.

“Those people,” Ignis fumed at the same moment, shifting to cross his legs under him and sit more comfortably against the wall next to Prompto. Prompto only blinked, staring at the dirt already streaking Ignis’ expensive looking pants. “Where is their compassion?”

“Actually,” Prompto tried, but Ignis seemed to have been holding himself back until he was sure the regular inhabitants of the market had left before launching into his tirade.

“I won’t pretend that Insomnia doesn’t suffer from its own biases, but we’ve seen so little of that kind of thinking on our travels,” Ignis continued. “Really! What does it matter what your station is or where you come from? Can’t they recognize a person in need when they see one?”

That made Prompto laugh, a half-crazed burst of giggling that made Ignis look at him sharply. As much as he didn’t want that glare directed at him, however, he couldn’t seem to stop the giggles now that they had started. Somehow he managed to screw the cap back on the bottle and set it aside before he could spill its precious contents by accident.

“No,” he finally managed, holding his side and wiping a tear from his eye. “No, they couldn’t. Ignis…” He shook his head and leaned back against the warm bricks. “You’re going to think I’m making this up to mess with you, but I swear I’m not.” He fell quiet for a moment after that, eyes dropping to the cane that still lay abandoned between them. Ignis was the first person who had “seen” him in years. His stomach clenched at the thought of losing that tenuous connection.

“Prompto,” Ignis finally said, his hand finding Prompto’s knee without trouble. Prompto stared at the way the gloved fingers seemed to curl around nothing a few inches above the ground. He sighed and tried to scratch some of the dust out of his hair.

“Okay, I’m going to say something and I’m counting on you to trust me when I say it’s the truth,” he said all in a rush. “I know we just met but…but I promise I’m not making fun of you or anything, okay?”

“Prompto,” Ignis said again, and every time he said his name a shiver ran down Prompto’s spine. He had no memory of anyone actually saying his name before, and now he’d heard it twice in as many minutes. “You don’t know me either,” the brunette pointed out, “but I am a man of my word. So, you can believe me when I say I will take you seriously.” A wry smile twisted his lips upwards and for the first time Prompto noticed a thin scar on his upper lip that matched the one over his eye. “I suppose we’ll just have to trust each other, won’t we?”

“Yeah,” Prompto agreed quietly. He snatched the water bottle and took another sip, clearing his throat once more. Then he blew out a sigh and closed his eyes, gripping the bottle hard enough to make the plastic creak.

“They couldn’t see me, Ignis. They’ve never seen me. I don’t know why, or how, or anything to explain it but…I’m invisible. Really, honestly invisible. You’re…the first person who’s ever even talked to me.”

He squeezed his eyes tighter, terrified to look at Ignis. Silence stretched between them until the murmur from the market seemed to grow into a dull roar and Prompto’s entire body began to tremble. Ignis’ hand left his knee.

_‘Here it comes,’_ Prompto thought, trying desperately to keep his breathing steady. His heart had climbed into his throat and seemed to be trying to choke him.

“Well,” Ignis finally said, in the same tone he might use if someone had told him it was likely to rain this evening. “That might explain a few things.”

Prompto almost dropped the water bottle and scrambled to catch it as he hadn’t replaced the cap after his last drink. A few drops darkened the coblestones in the alley between his legs, but he saved most of what was left.

“I…I’m sorry?” he said weakly. Ignis had turned his sightless eyes to the sky, but he lowered his head at Prompto’s words and nodded once to himself before moving to stand and dust himself off.

“You asked me to believe you, so I am. At least, until I can get verification one way or the other,” Ignis reasoned, feeling for his cane. Prompto wordlessly nudged it towards his seeking fingers and watched Ignis grip the fine black wood and straighten up.

“Do you think you can walk?” Ignis said, extending a hand to help Prompto up. Prompto finished the last of the water and tossed the empty bottle into a nearby bin. Then he hauled himself up by the offered hand, swaying only a bit before he found his footing. The water had helped, even if he still felt sluggish to respond to every new turn of events.

“Uh…sure. Walk where?” he asked.

“Not far. My hotel. The Leville? I suspect you’ve heard of it,” Ignis said, retaining his hold on Prompto’s hand once they were both standing. Prompto’s fingers tightened of their own accord, squeezing the sunbaked leather. Another little thrill ran through him. Holding someone’s hand, another first.

“Why?” Prompto asked before he could stop himself. It didn’t matter. He’d go wherever Ignis wanted, just so long as the man would stay. Ignis only smiled again and tapped the side of his glasses with a finger.

“As I said, verification. I’m choosing to believe you, but I’m afraid I can’t confirm the situation on my own.” Prompto stared at those smiling lips until Ignis turned away and began to lead him through the crowd. He knew the way to the hotel, of course, but he let Ignis pull him along, drifting behind him as if in a dream. After so long he truly had begun to think of himself as the Spirit of the Market, or something like it. Something closer to the daemons that roared in the countryside than the humans he lived alongside in the city.

All that had changed in a matter of minutes, however, and he found himself wondering just how Ignis would prove if it were true. It felt like the proof of his own existence hung in the balance, never mind his claim of being invisible. But no matter how it turned out, more than anything, he simply hoped that Ignis would never let go of his hand.


	3. Chapter 2

Prompto had never been in the Leville before. Correction, he’d never been past the lobby. Sometimes the air conditioned room was a blessed relief from the heat of the city in high summer and he’d found he could sit in a corner for hours and people-watch the various tourists coming and going without fear of discovery. It was one of a handful of refuges around the city he had discovered over the years. 

Now, however, Ignis didn’t stop at the lobby. Prompto noticed he tucked his cane under his arm once they hit the rush of cool air—perhaps because this place was familiar to him?—and tugged Prompto towards the elevator. The ride was smooth, but Prompto’s stomach still lurched when he saw Ignis produce a keycard before hitting the top button. That could only mean they were headed towards the penthouse suite. Ignis had said he was the Royal Advisor to the King, but that didn’t mean they were really going to meet _him_…did it? 

Prompto felt faint again, but he swallowed and squeezed Ignis’ hand. It wasn’t hard to find a radio left playing around the city, and Prompto knew a fair amount about the new king. King Noctis had newly ascended to the throne at the somewhat worrying age of only twenty following an unsuccessful coup that had, unfortunately, taken the life of his father, the previous King Regis. What most reporters found even more incredulous than his age, however, was his decision to leave the safety of the Crown City and tour the Kingdom. Most of the news media agreed it was a Bad Idea, though everyone seemed to have a different opinion on exactly why. Some said it was out of grief, others speculated that the plot against the Crown hadn’t been put down entirely and someone was trying to lure the new King out to assassinate him as well before he could produce an heir, and at least one reporter had sworn to have met the King personally and simply said that Noctis was bored and was using the trip as an excuse to find fishing spots and avoid any official duties. 

Prompto, who was approximately same age as far as he knew, thought the last was probably the most likely. 

A sudden tug on his hand brought Prompto back to the present and he tripped out of the elevator after Ignis as the man nearly dragged him towards the grand doors before them. He swiped his key and twisted the handle. 

“What is Luna gonna think when she finds out her Prince Charmless sleeps until noon every day?” A voice was saying as they entered. 

“Luna isn’t going to care, and I’m not a prince anymore,” another voice replied, sounding muzzy with sleep. 

“Yeah, but King doesn’t have quite the same ring. Besides…it still doesn’t seem real,” the first voice replied, the tone growing somber by the end. 

“You’re telling me,” the second voice sighed. 

“A-hem,” Ignis said, closing the door behind him. Two faces appeared, peering out of the room’s small but fully furnished kitchen. One man was clearly much taller, with long black hair, tanned skin, and an old scar stretching from his hairline to his chin across one eye. A newer line ran across his forehead, bisecting the older one. The other was shorter and paler, with blue-black hair that tended more towards the color of the night sky. Said hair was currently sticking out in every direction imaginable. 

“Why’re you standing like that, Iggy?” the blue-black haired man said, the owner of the second voice. The other one, who must have been the owner of the first voice, took a step further out into the main room and crossed his arms. Prompto swallowed. The man hadn’t bothered to put on a shirt and he was pure muscle from the waist up. An eagle’s head glared at Prompto from one side of the man’s toned chest, the feathers of its wings spreading down both of his arms in a stark black tattoo. Prompto locked eyes with the eagle and squeezed Ignis’ hand again. 

He held his breath as he waited for Ignis to respond. This was the moment of truth, so to speak. 

Ignis squeezed his hand in return. 

“I take it, then, that you can’t see my companion?” Ignis asked. His voice was just as calm as it had been all morning, as though he were merely discussing the weather. Prompto wasn’t sure if it made him want to laugh or cry. 

“Companion?” the shorter man asked, rubbing some of the sleep from his eyes. The taller man scowled. 

“What’s this all about, Iggy?” he asked. Prompto took half a step closer to Ignis, suddenly grateful that those suspicious eyes couldn’t actually find him. 

“Prompto, allow me to introduce you to King Noctis Lucis Caelum and his sworn Shield, Gladiolus Amicitia.” Ignis paused a moment, only to tug on Prompto’s arm when he didn’t speak up. “Well? Aren’t you going to introduce yourself?” 

“Um…” Prompto mumbled, dropping his eyes when both of the men watching visibly jumped. “I’m Prompto Argentum.” 

The shorter one—perhaps the King?—opened his mouth, only to be cut off as the larger one shoved him behind him. 

“What the hell, Iggy?” The taller man, Gladiolus, barked. With a crackle of sparks there was suddenly a sword larger than he was tall in his hands. The tip just barely missing carving into the ceiling above them. Prompto jumped and dove behind Ignis, regardless of whether he was invisible. 

“Gladio,” Ignis said sternly. His hand still gripped Prompto’s, though his arm was twisted behind his own back now. It couldn’t have been comfortable, but he made no move to release Prompto’s hand. “Please, you’re scaring him.” 

“_I’m_ scaring _him_?” Gladiolus asked. 

“Yes,” Ignis said, “I believe you are.” Gladiolus glared for a moment longer before lowering his sword. He didn’t put it down entirely, though, Prompto noticed. The silence that stretched between them was tense. 

“Okay, kid, that’s a nice trick but we’ll all breathe a bit easier if we can see you,” Gladiolus said eventually. Prompto swallowed, peeking around Ignis’ taller frame to gaze at the man who was clearly a warrior. Shield was more than an apt title for him. 

“It’s not a trick,” he rasped, rubbing his throat. He wished he had more water. Talking so much was making his throat ache. 

“Seriously?” the smaller one asked. 

“Noct—!” Gladiolus began to protest, but the King had already ducked under his arm and taken a step towards Ignis. Towards Prompto. 

“You can’t turn it off?” Noctis asked. The world blurred around the edges and it wasn’t until something warm slid down Prompto’s cheek that he recognized his eyes had filled with tears. So many years. So many years he’d been the wind or a “spirit” or simply someone’s overactive imagination. For the first time since he could remember, maybe just for this moment, he was none of those things. 

He was just Prompto. 

“I can’t,” Prompto confirmed, taking a careful step out from behind Ignis. The movement allowed Ignis to straighten his arm and Noctis’ eyes followed it, landing right on Prompto. 

“How long have you been like that?” Noctis asked next. Gladiolus let out an exasperated sigh behind him and, apparently deciding that Prompto wasn’t a threat after all, dismissed his weapon. It disappeared into the same scattering of blue sparks it had appeared out of. Prompto licked his lips and tried to speak up, to match the volume of the others in the room. It was a challenge and made him feel like there was grit stuck in his throat. 

“Ten years…I think?” Prompto said haltingly. “Forever, really. I…don’t remember anything before that.” 

“Shit,” Noctis breathed. Gladiolus whistled. Prompto, meanwhile, looked at the floor where his feet should be. The carpet below the undersized shoes pinching his toes was plush enough that he thought he could see the faintest indentations around where he stood. 

Ignis tugged at his hand again until Prompto looked up. It was only afterwards that he thought to wonder how Ignis had known he was staring at the ground, but then the Advisor was talking. 

“Why don’t I make you some tea? From the sound of it, you’ve done more talking than you’re used to already today, and I fear you’ll need to do a good deal more if you want us to help you,” Ignis offered with a kind smile. Prompto just stared at him. 

“Help me?” he repeated, even as he allowed Ignis to tug him towards one of the large white couches in the room. The cushions visibly sank under him when he sat and he was sure he heard Noctis suck in a breath at the sight. 

“Yeah, kid,” Gladiolus said as he came around to sit on the opposite couch facing Prompto. Noctis drifted over to sit beside his Shield. “These days, helping people is kind of what we do.”


	4. Chapter 3

“This is so wild,” Noctis whispered as he watched Prompto sip his third cup of tea. It was warm and sweet, but even Prompto knew how odd it must look: the cup floating in midair while its contents disappeared seemingly into thin air. No one else commented, however. They were sitting on the two couches in the main room, Prompto and Ignis on one while Noctis and Gladiolus sat on the one facing them, a glass coffee table separating them by a few feet. 

The sun had fallen low while Prompto told his story, the details coming slowly in fits and starts. He wasn’t used to talking for so long, true, but it was Ignis who stopped him more often than his throat. Whenever he’d gone ten or so minutes without a sip of tea, the blind man would gently remind him to drink or sometimes simply touch his elbow. Prompto reveled in the latter. Purposeful touch was still so foreign to him, and it seemed to come so easily to Ignis. 

Both Gladiolus and Noctis had touched his arm earlier, to confirm that he was really there. Their hands had batted at the air before finding Prompto’s skin, however, and they had both jumped a little when they actually made contact, as if they’d bumping into something unexpected in the dark. Ignis didn’t startle when he touch him, and his movements were never anything but sure. He knew just where Prompto was, every part of him, unerringly. 

By now he’d brought them all up to speed, at least as far as he could. In the end it hadn’t seemed much like a story at all, really, since he had no memory of what had caused his invisibility. And while Noctis and Gladiolus were interested in the ghost-like life he’d led since then, they kept coming back to the cause, asking question after question that Prompto simply didn’t have the answers to. Gladiolus in particular was beginning to sound more than a little frustrated with Prompto’s lack of knowledge, but there wasn’t much he could do about that. 

“It can’t be from a daemon,” Gladiolus said for what must have been the fourth time. “It wouldn’t have lasted this long.” 

“I’ve certainly never heard of any effects caused by daemons that last more than an hour or so at the most,” Ignis agreed yet again. Unlike the Shield, there wasn’t a trace of annoyance in the Advisor’s voice, even though they’d had this discussion several times already. 

“Okay, so it’s not a daemon,” Noctis muttered, rolling his eyes in Prompto’s general direction. Surprisingly enough, they’d agreed with Prompto’s private assumption that that he and Noctis must be roughly the same age, and after spending the afternoon with the King, Prompto believed it more than ever. Noctis wasn’t immature, exactly, but something about his demeanor drew Prompto in immediately. In another life, Prompto thought they could even have been friends. 

Maybe they still could be. 

“But,” Noctis continued, before Gladiolus could carry one with any other theories they’d already talked to death, “clearly he’s cursed.” 

Prompto choked on his tea. 

“Noct!” Ignis reprimanded the King. He sounded so much like a mother scolding a child that Prompto might have laughed if he hadn’t been busy trying to clear tea out of his sinuses. 

“What? Nobody else has any better ideas,” Noctis defended himself. 

“This isn’t some storybook,” Gladiolus chuckled, “Curses aren’t real.” 

“Why not?” Noctis shot back. “No, really. I mean it. Why not? Magic is real. Daemons are real. Why not curses, too?” 

A bird chirped at the setting sun somewhere outside the window in the silence that followed. 

“So, what, you think a kiss from a handsome prince will make him visible again?” Gladiolus asked. Ignis raised a hand to hide a smile behind his fingers. Noctis’ eyes grew wide and round, his face turning scarlet. 

“That’s not what I meant!” The King shouted. 

“You’re not denying it,” Gladiolus replied slyly. 

“And I told you I’m not a prince anymore!” 

“Never said I was talking about you, Your Majesty.” 

Prompto stared into his tea, feeling his own face grow hot. 

“Gladio. Noct. That’s quite enough,” Ignis finally cut across their argument, though he sounded more amused than annoyed. Prompto lifted his gaze enough to see Gladiolus wearing a smug grin while Noctis looked ready to throw a punch at his Shield. Fingers at his elbow made him jump and Prompto narrowly avoided letting any of his tea slosh out of his half-empty cup. 

“Finish your tea, Prompto,” Ignis instructed gently, wearing a smile wider than any Prompto had seen so far. From what Prompto had observed, no one went against Ignis’ orders and he wasn’t about to the first to start so he began to sip again obediently. “Now if you two think you can behave, I believe I will make us all some dinner. Prompto, you’ll be staying of course, won’t you?” 

“I…” Prompto spluttered. But he had no excuse. Nowhere else to be. “S-sure.” 

Ignis stood and smiled down at him. 

“Is there anything in particular you would like?” he asked next. “Or any allergies or foods you don’t care for?” Prompto was at a loss. For years he had lived off whatever was left for the Spirit of the Market or else anything even momentarily unattended. It was a diet that left very little room for choice. 

“I…I like spicy things,” he said finally. It felt like a poor response, but Ignis nodded, apparently satisfied with the answer. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” the Advisor replied. He turned his head towards Gladiolus and Noctis in a move that, from a sighted man, would have been a glare of warning, and headed for the suite’s kitchenette. Not knowing what else to do, Prompto went back to sipping his tea. 

“You can stay here tonight, kid, if you want,” Gladiolus said after a moment. “It’s gotta be better than sleeping on the street,” he added before Prompto could protest. It was, of course, but was it really alright for him to stay in the suite with the _King_? He looked over, but Noctis had pulled out his phone and offered no objection. 

“Thank you,” he whispered between sips of tea, draining his cup to the dregs before setting it on the table. Gladiolus nodded and leaned back to stare thoughtfully at the ceiling. 

“Sorry we couldn’t come up with anything useful,” the Shield said, though he sounded like he was talking to himself more than Prompto. “I’ll make some calls tomorrow. There’s some people we’ve met on our Tour that might have a better idea of where to start than we do. Who knows, maybe one of them has even heard of this before.” 

Prompto was suddenly very glad he’d set the cup down because he could feel his hands begin to shake in his lap. He swallowed hard, not trusting himself to speak for a moment. These people, these strangers, wanted to help him. Not just Ignis, but Gladiolus and Noctis, too. His entire world had been turned on its head in the span of twelve hours, all because he happened to try and take an apple too close to a blind man. It was hard to believe. Impossible, really. 

Maybe Noctis was right. Maybe storybooks could be true. 

“Thank you,” he whispered again, rubbing his hands against the heat gathering in his eyes. He was glad neither of them could see him do it.

* * *

Despite his obvious handicap, neither Gladiolus nor Noctis offered to help Ignis in the kitchen. Noctis was thoroughly engrossed in his phone and after Gladiolus had exhausted the few questions he had yet to repeat five times the bigger man produced a well-worn paperback novel from his back pocket and began to read. Prompto had seen more than enough proof that Ignis was perfectly capable of anything a sighted man could do, and yet he still felt uncomfortable without at least offering to help. 

None of his meals came free, not really. He couldn’t outright replace what he ate, but he did his best to make amends for what he took. That was how the story of the Spirit of the Market had been born, after all. So, when Ignis reappeared briefly to refill his teacup yet again, he timidly offered to help, only to be waved off. 

“You’d only get in the way,” Gladiolus assured him without looking up from his book. “Trust me.” Prompto bit his lip to hold in a giggle at the mental image that thought produced. He was used to side-stepping people and had become a master of avoiding unseen collisions with passers-by, but Ignis was so eerily aware of his presence that Prompto suspected they wouldn’t be able to avoid bumping elbows or knocking something off a counter in the cramped kitchenette. Ignis was quite possibly the only person in the world who could actually consider him “in the way.” The idea was hilarious, even as it made something warm blossom in his chest. 

Prompto watched his tea swirl in his cup as they waited. He had never thought of silence as strange. He had practically been mute for as long as he could remember. Even so, there was always the hustle and bustle of the market or the music and shouts of Lestallum’s night life. After a few minutes he began to fidget, bouncing his knee and twisting his fingers around the handle of the cup. Sitting still wasn’t a luxury he often had, and for all of its comfort the couch felt odd. Too soft. Unearned. 

Like he didn’t belong on it. 

Just when he was getting up the courage to ask Noctis what he was doing so intently on his phone, tapping absently with his fingers, Ignis announced that dinner was ready. Prompto sighed and felt his shoulder’s drop, following the others to the table in the center of the room. 

Ignis had set out bowls of soup with hunks of bread for dipping and glasses of water for each of them. Four in total. Even as he reached the last unoccupied chair, Prompto could smell the tell-tale snap of spice in the air. 

“I decided to try a new recipe,” Ignis supplied as Prompto pulled his chair out and sat. “Green curry soup. I hope it’s to your liking.” Prompto grabbed the bread in one hand and his spoon in the other, but paused with both only halfway to his mouth, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Glancing up, he found the King and his Shield staring at him, Gladiolus hiding his shock only slightly better than his King. 

“Damn,” Noctis said under his breath. “That’s even weirder than the teacup thing.” Prompto lowered his hands slowly until his spoon disappeared back beneath the surface of the soup and his bread was back on its napkin. He could feel his cheeks heating up. Worse, there was heat gathering in his eyes again. A soft rattling drew his attention and he realized that his hand had begun to shake, knocking the spoon against the bowl. He quickly let go of it. 

“That’s quite enough,” Ignis nearly barked, making Prompto jump and nearly knock over his water glass. “You heard the same story I did, did you not? Hot meals are a luxury for our new friend, and you are currently ruining it for him. Keep your eyes on your plates if you can’t keep them in your head.” 

To Prompto’s shock, Gladiolus muttered a quick apology alongside his King and they both dropped their eyes to obediently begin eating. He watched them in awe, the only sounds between them soft slurping and the occasional clink of metal against ceramic. A hand found his and he stiffened again, turning to find Ignis’ hand covering his own unseen one. 

Ignis’ hands were bare now, and warm. They were soft, likely from wearing those gloves so often, but Prompto could still feel the hard press of calluses along his fingers. He remembered how Gladiolus had summoned his giant sword out of thin air earlier and wondered if Ignis could do the same. Could he fight, as well, like the hunters who kept the daemons from getting too close to the city? For a moment Prompto wondered what his weapon of choice might be. Surely not a giant sword like Gladiolus. No, that wouldn’t suit Ignis at all. 

“Are you all right?” Ignis asked quietly, breaking into his thoughts. Prompto swallowed. 

“Yes,” he croaked and cleared his throat before snatching his glass for a drink of water. “I’m fine,” he added after downing a third of the glass in one gulp. Ignis kept his head turned towards him, as if he wasn’t quite convinced, but finally nodded. 

“Go slowly, and don’t expect seconds,” Ignis said. “As much as I’d love to let you have as much as you desire, your stomach isn’t used to large meals and I won’t have you making yourself sick.” Prompto swallowed again and briefly mourned the loss of the gentle pressure as Ignis withdrew his hand. 

“Okay. I will,” he promised and turned back to his meal. He didn’t stop to see if Noctis or Gladiolus had decided to sneak a peek this time and thrust the spoon into his mouth. The spice made his tongue tingle, but it wasn’t overbearing enough to make it burn. And there were other flavors hidden behind it, too. Hints of chicken and something fresh and green, adding a brightness to the taste. When he swallowed the heat went with it, numbing his sore throat and easing some of the scratchiness he’d begun to feel from talking so much. 

He licked his lips and stared down at his bowl. For a long moment he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to honor Ignis’ order to eat slowly. All he wanted was to forgo the spoon altogether and tip the bowl directly into his mouth. 

“This,” he said, very slowly and very deliberately, “is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.” 

Gladiolus’ howl of laughter made him jump and he looked up just in time to see Ignis turning his head away, a distinct pinkness dusting his fine cheekbones beneath the dark glasses he still wore. Noctis very pointedly did not look up from his own bowl of soup. 

“You have my thanks, Prompto,” Ignis muttered. Gladiolus, meanwhile, swiped at the air beside Prompto. Prompto leaned out of the way out of habit before he realized that the big man had meant to give him a friendly slap on the shoulder (and missed entirely). 

“You just made my night, kid,” the Shield said with a grin.


	5. Chapter 4

It took four tries—and some help from Gladiolus—to convince Ignis that Prompto was more than happy to spend the night with a pillow and a blanket on the couch. The Advisor kept insisting that Prompto should take his bed while _he_ slept on the couch, but Prompto had already racked up enough debt that he could never repay for one night. He wasn’t about to add to the score.

“If you grow cold in the night—,” Ignis started as he held out the pillow and folded blanket.

“No one could be cold in this city,” Gladiolus interrupted.

“The air conditioning is on,” Ignis shot back. His voice was strained and there was an odd little furrow between his brows. More like actual worry than merely polite concern. Gladiolus just sighed and took the blanket from Ignis to thrust it in Prompto’s general direction.

“Enough,” the bigger man said. His tone was stern, but there was an oddly gentle undercurrent to it. “The kid’s lasted ten years without you playing mother hen. He’ll be fine, right, kid?” Prompto didn’t immediately realize he was supposed to speak as Gladiolus hadn’t taken his eyes off of Ignis, but after a moment he fumbled to respond.

“Uh, yeah,” he agreed hastily. Ignis’ lips had thinned again. Prompto wondered what that meant. Annoyance? Disapproval? Nothing good, at any rate. Even so, the Advisor only sighed and adjusted his sunglasses.

“I suppose you have a point,” he said at last, turning back to Prompto. “Well, then I’ll bid you good night, Prompto. Pleasant dreams.”

“Yeah, sweet dreams, kid,” Gladiolus said, practically dragging Ignis towards the door that separated one of the two bedrooms from the sitting room of the suite. Noctis had already retreated to his own room after dinner. Gladiolus and Ignis apparently shared the other one.

And then Prompto was alone.

He’d been alone for most of his life, but this felt…different. The way the silence while Ignis was cooking had felt different. He tried to busy himself with the pillow and the blanket, but there was only so much fluffing and rearranging he could do before there was no other choice but to lie down. The couch was just as soft as it had been that afternoon, softer even. And that was strange, too. He was used to cooling cobblestones underneath him, the heat of the day baked into them so thoroughly that they never truly became chilly. Having a proper pillow instead of some scraps of folded cloth was off-putting as well. It felt nice, yes, but also in the way. With a sigh he sat up and beat at it with his fist, trying to flatten it more.

When he laid his head on it again it felt a little more normal, if still too soft. Then he shifted and turned his nose into it. It smelled like lavender. Lavender and coffee and just a hint of cooking oil.

It smelled like Ignis. Before he quite knew what he was doing, Prompto had buried his face in the pillow and breathed deeply. The strangeness of the situation began to evaporate in the wake of the increasingly familiar scent. It was ridiculous that he could find so much comfort in this small reminder of a man he had met only this morning, and yet…and yet…

He thought of Ignis’ hand wrapped tight around his wrist. He thought of how clipped his voice had been at first, scolding Prompto. The first words ever intentionally spoken to him, and they had been words of disappointment. But that didn’t stop them from being special. Prompto took another shuddering breath and sat up again.

Words didn’t have to be kind to be memorable. What was more, a bed didn’t have to be soft to be comfortable, he decided.

There was a soft _thud_ as the pillow hit the floor between the couch and the coffee table. Prompto let the blanket pool next to it before crossing to the window. As quietly as he could he unlatched it and pushed it opened, not very wide as he didn’t want to waste the blessedly cool air filling the room. The crack he’d left was enough, however. In the distance he could hear the sounds of Lestallum At Night, echoing strangely as if coming to him from another world but still there all the same. Silently, he padded back to the sofa and laid down on the soft carpeting. The floor had more give than any street, but it was more solid than the couch. More familiar. He would have forgone the pillow as well, but that faint scent clinging to it made him hold onto it.

He was asleep almost before he’d closed his eyes.

* * *

Prompto woke to the smell of coffee. He was wrapped in a blanket—a rare find—and there was something soft under his head. Then he realized that the ground was soft as well, and faintly fuzzy, and there was a distinct lack of sweat on his brow from the gathering morning heat.

Blinking his eyes opened, Prompto sat up so fast that his head connected with the edge of the coffee table with a solid _smack_. He curled back onto his side with a yelp, covering his head with his hands.

“Prompto?” a familiar voice called. It was the man from yesterday. Ignis. “Are you quite all right?”

Prompto groaned and held his hand in front of his face. It was still invisible and thankfully not coated in blood. He rubbed the tender spot on the top of his head and sat up more slowly.

“’M fine,” he replied, sitting back against the couch. “I hit my head, but it’s just a bump.” He blinked around the room and saw Ignis coming towards him from the kitchenette. It wasn’t until the Advisor had nearly reached him that he realized how easily he’d fallen into responding to the man’s questions. Perhaps it was only human nature. After all, he hadn’t been entirely silent all these years. He’d talked to himself on occasion, usually in whispers to avoid unwanted attention. What a difference it made when there was another person to converse with, however.

Ignis paused at the coffee table and felt the edge of the empty couch for a moment before angling his head towards the floor where Prompto sat. He edged one of his feet forward almost cautiously until it bumped Prompto’s leg.

“Ah,” Ignis said, his brows clearing in understanding. “You slept on the floor, I see.” It wasn’t a question but Prompto gave the couch behind him a guilty glance anyway.

“Yeah,” he admitted, rubbing his sore head again. “It was too soft up there…sorry.”

“Whatever are you apologizing for?” Ignis asked. His lips were oddly quirked, as if he were fighting against a smile. “I did say you were free to make yourself comfortable. Now, Gladio is out for his morning run and His Majesty tends to be a late riser. Would you like any breakfast? Eggs, perhaps?”

Prompto swallowed hard. Cooked eggs were practically a delicacy in his book. Most often he had to snatch them raw and only sometimes had the opportunity to hard boil them in a borrowed pot after the market closed up for the day.

“Yes, please,” he said quickly, climbing to his feet. He started to kneel to gather the pillow and blanket up off the floor, but Ignis’ hand on his arm stopped him. His eyes went to the spot immediately, amazed by how Ignis’ long fingers could entirely encircle his thin forearm.

“I fear that in all the excitement of yesterday I may have neglected part of my duties as host by not offering you the chance to bathe. The bathroom is through there if you’d like to wash up while I get things ready. I took the liberty of laying out some of Noct’s old clothes—er, His Majesty’s, rather. They might be a bit loose, but they should fit.” Ignis smiled warmly at him. “I always find the world seems a brighter place when one is clean.”

Prompto blinked at Ignis and then turned his head slowly between the Advisor and the door that he had indicated. He washed up when he could in the public restrooms of shops and even the lobby of the Leville, but he couldn’t honestly remember the last time he’d had the opportunity to take a full, uninterrupted shower.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, because it was the only thing that seemed appropriate. Because without money or skills or anything to trade he had no idea how he was ever going to repay this man’s seemingly endless kindness.

“Enjoy yourself,” Ignis said with a knowing grin and retreated back to the kitchen. Prompto didn’t question it further but scooped his blanket and pillow onto the couch in a heap and nearly ran to the bathroom door.

True to his word, Ignis had laid out a towel and a folded stack of clothes along with two small bottles of shampoo and conditioner respectively. Prompto opened one and sniffed it only to be immediately greeted with the smell of lavender. He smiled and replaced the bottle before beginning to strip.

As soon as his shirt was fully off his torso it became visible. Once it had been white, with the “Meteor Publishing” logo on it. Now it was closer to heather gray and the logo was badly faded by the sun. His shoes were next, the soles cracked and worn, followed by socks that were more holes than fabric and a pair of jeans that Prompto hadn’t even realized were worn clear through at one knee. As he folded his old clothes to set aside he found that Ignis had also left a pair of black boots on the bathroom floor, clean and new. He pondered them for a moment and finally set his old shoes beside them, resolving to at least try them on before he attempted to give them back.

He adjusted the water until it was just shy of scalding and finally stepped under the spray. His eyes slid closed of their own accord at the simple bliss of hot water cascading over him. For a long moment he simply stood there with his chin on his breastbone, soaking in the warmth of the shower. When he blinked his eyes opened again he could see that the water swirling towards the drain had turned brown with the amount of dust and grime coating him unseen like a second skin. His gut twisted in guilt as he thought of the crisp white pillow he’d borrowed last night. He hadn’t taken the time to inspect it, but it was no doubt smudged with dirt form his face and hair.

Pushing the thought aside, he raised his head and cupped his hands before his face. It was fascinating, even for him, to watch the water bounce off the negative space where his body should be. Even more captivating was the sight of it forming into a faint half circle in his unseen hands, seemingly suspended in the air. Prompto watched it until it overflowed, spilling over his fingers in tiny rivulets, before at last splashing his face with it.

He went to work after that, scrubbing every inch of himself with the hotel soap before using the bottles of shampoo and conditioner Ignis had provided on his hair. His hair fell nearly to his shoulders when it was wet, and he hoped he wasn’t using up too much of the Advisor’s supply to wash it. He borrowed scissors to cut it when he could, more due to the heat of the city than anything else. But it was a tricky business, cutting your own hair when you couldn’t even see it, and he’d nicked his fingers and even the tips of his ears a few times so he only tried it when the weight of it soaked in sweat every day became truly unbearable. He had no idea what it looked like, of course, though he seemed to think it might have once been blond. The current style was probably an uneven hack-job, give his usual type of luck.

The water never even threated to grow cold, so Prompto took his time enjoying it while he worked his fingers into his hair and rinsed it until the water ran clear without a speck of suds or dirt. There was a nice bump on the back of his head where he’d hit it on the coffee table, but the pain was already beginning to fade when compared to the sheer bliss of being clean. At long last there was nothing left to soap or rinse and he could only bring himself to linger for another minute or two before he reluctantly shut the water off. Water was a precious commodity in a city plagued by heat, he knew, and he was loath to waste it.

As he dried himself, Prompto considered the new clothes that Ignis had left for him beside his old worn ones. His instinct was to put his own back on—Ignis had already given him so much—but now that he was clean, the idea of pulling the old grimy clothes back on made his skin itch. His eyes shifted back to the new clothes laid out for him, all of them black, even the socks. Wearing black would only make the city feel hotter, but they were also clean and that was what finally tipped the scales for him.

He carefully hung his towel before reaching for the clothes. Ignis had told him that these belonged to Noctis. The young King had looked about the same size as him, but Prompto was far skinnier by comparison. Once the clothes were fully on they disappeared as if by magic, but he could still feel the way the fabric billowed against him. He swam in the shirt and it was a good thing Ignis had left him a belt with the pants or they never would have stayed on his narrow hips. Lastly, he pulled the socks on and sat down on the edge of the tub to tug on the offered boots. Incredibly, they fit perfectly and didn’t pinch his toes at all the way his own undersized shoes had done. He hesitated a moment more before doing up the laces by touch.

Dressed at last, He carefully gathered up his old belongings, trying not to transfer any dirt onto his newly acquired clothes, and opened the bathroom door. Gladiolus had returned and was sitting on one of the couches, Noctis was still nowhere in sight, and the smell of something sweet announced that Ignis was still in the kitchenette. Gladiolus looked up at the noise and whistled at the pile of old clothes floating in the air before him.

“Looks like someone really needed that,” he observed and Prompto ducked his head even though the big man couldn’t see it. “I don’t think even you could salvage these rags, Iggy,” he added, raising his voice.

“They are Prompto’s belongings and he will decide if he wants to keep them,” Ignis responded crisply, appearing with a plate stacked high with pancakes and setting it on the table. “I thought you might want more than just eggs, Prompto,” he explained, “but mind what I said last night about eating small meals, if you would.”

Prompto looked around for a moment, and finally put his old clothes and shoes on the floor beside the couch. It seemed like the least offensive option, even if the plush carpet _was_ white.

“I will,” he promised, already moving towards the table.

“Would you like coffee or tea?” Ignis asked, already turning back to the small kitchen.

“Tea,” Prompto answered automatically as he slid into a chair. There was a plate of scrambled eggs as well and, Prompto noticed, a small bottle of hot sauce beside the equally tiny bottle of syrup for the pancakes. For a moment he wondered if Gladiolus or Noctis liked their eggs with hot sauce, but somehow he doubted it. His heart felt heavy in his chest, like it wanted to stop and burst at the same time, and he rubbed a hand over his breastbone and took a few deep breaths until it passed.

“Gladio, perhaps you should tell Prompto what you just told me,” Ignis suggested as he set a cup of tea down by Prompto’s plate. For the hundredth time in the last 24 hours Prompto wondered how Ignis knew where he was, but he didn’t question it.

“Oh, yeah,” Gladiolus said, moving to sit beside Prompto as he had the night before and beginning to pile pancakes onto his plate. “I called around while you were in the shower. A friend of ours, Dave, said he has an estranged aunt. Something about people being creeped out by her or something. Anyway, he said she might be able to help. Magic is kind of her thing, I guess.”

“What, is she a witch?” Noctis asked around a yawn, making Prompto jump. He hadn’t even heard the King enter the room and now he watched him slump into his chair with a comforter still wrapped around him like a cape, looking more interested in closing his eyes to fall asleep again than in eating any of the food.

“Well she lives all alone in the woods. Guess we’ll just have to go and find out if she lives in a gingerbread house and eats kids, too,” Gladiolus said with a grin. The comment earned him a light swat to the back of his head from Ignis as he set down a mug of coffee next to the man, but the Shield didn’t even flinch as he picked up the bottle of syrup.

The information fluttered around Prompto’s mind like a trapped bird while he mechanically spooned eggs onto his plate and doused them with the hot sauce. Why were these strangers doing so much for him? How could he repay them?

And, most importantly, could this “witch” really cure him?


	6. Chapter 5

“What are we looking for again?” Noctis asked as the car rolled through the woods. Prompto sat in the back of the expensive car, running his fingers absently over the leather seats and staring at the trees outside his window. Ignis sat beside him, his cane planted between his feet. Prompto thought it was a bit strange that Noctis, the King, was driving himself, but Ignis had explained that the car—the Regalia—was special to Noctis and there were precious few people he trusted with it.

“I was the only other one he’d let near it,” Ignis had said wryly, adjusting his sunglasses, “once upon a time.”

“Dave said to look for a ‘No Hunters Allowed’ sign,” Gladiolus said from the passenger seat.

“And this lady is really called the Witch of the Woods?” Noctis asked, leaning forward over the steering wheel as if it would make the sign magically reveal itself.

“Even better, her shop is called the House of Hexes, apparently,” Gladiolus replied with a snort.

“See, I told you he was cursed,” Noctis said.

“Noct,” Ignis sighed, pushing his glasses up momentarily to pinch the bridge of his nose. Prompto sat back in his seat, fiddling with the mostly empty water bottle Ignis had given him when they’d left the hotel. Part of him was oddly disappointed that Noctis and Gladiolus had insisted on coming along, more out of curiosity than anything else. They were both nice enough, of course, but he found himself wishing for more time alone with Ignis. The Advisor didn’t reach blindly for him but always knew exactly where he was. He didn’t ask Prompto many questions or comment on everything he did, either. Ignis simply seemed to know just about everything about Prompto already.

“I do hope you’ll be respectful and not call the poor woman a witch to her face, both of you,” Ignis said sternly. “I’ll remind you again that her name is Kimya Auburnbrie and that Miss Auburnbrie will do fine unless she says otherwise.” Ignis sighed again and muttered something too low to be heard in the front of the car that sounded suspiciously like, “children.”

“Yes, Mother,” Gladiolus shot back. Ignis raised his chin indignantly, but whatever retort he had planned was cut off as Noct suddenly cried out in excitement, “Oh! I think that’s it!”

A hand-painted sign was nailed to a tree beside a narrow dirt track with the words “No Hunters Allowed” printed neatly on it. The trail was clearly too narrow for the Regalia, or any car for that matter, so Noctis did his best to pull to the side of the dirt road and shut the engine off.

“Looks like we’re hoofing it,” Gladiolus announced, popping his door opened. Prompto wondered if he’d said it mainly for Ignis’ benefit while he grappled with his seatbelt, finally freeing himself to step out of the car. The air in the forest felt close, almost oppressive. He glanced around as the others climbed out of the car, wrapping his arms around himself. If he’d ever been in a forest before, he didn’t remember it. All he knew was Lestallum and the sparse landscape surrounding it. He tilted his head back to try and see the tops of the trees, but it only made him feel dizzy, which was worse. Suddenly, he wasn’t sure if this was such a good idea.

“Everything all right?” Ignis asked, suddenly beside him. Prompto dropped the water bottle in surprise and stooped to pick it up again, feeling the plastic crinkle under his fingers.

_‘What if she doesn’t like me?’_ he thought. Before yesterday it had never mattered whether someone liked him. Before yesterday, no one had even acknowledged him. Now, however, there were nervous butterflies doing summersaults in his stomach.

_‘What if she _does _like you?’ _a second thought answered the first. Noctis and Gladiolus found him fascinating, like a street performer that they couldn’t stop watching. But if he really was cursed, as Noctis said, and this woman really was a witch, what would happen if she cured him? If he was visible, would they still have any interest in him? Or would their curiosity be satisfied? What little value he had was in the mystery surrounding him. Take that away, and what reason would the King and his entourage have to keep him around?

What reason would Ignis have to even keep talking to him?

“Prompto?” the man in question asked again, reaching out to touch Prompto’s arm. Prompto closed his eyes and concentrated on that single point of contact, memorizing the weight of it and the smooth brush of the leather glove against his skin.

“I’m fine,” he said, clearing his throat and unscrewing the water bottle for a quick swig. Noctis and Gladiolus were already starting down the dirt trail by the sign and Prompto pulled his arm free to take Ignis’ hand in his own. “Come on. We’re going to get left behind,” he murmured. Ignis’ hand was solid in his own, the leather warm despite the air conditioned car they’d been sitting in, and he felt his stomach settle when Ignis squeezed his fingers gently.

“Well, we certainly wouldn’t want that,” Ignis said, and with that they started out together, Ignis using his cane to find any roots or rock that might try to trip him as they went. Even so, he still caught his foot on something buried in the bed of decaying leaves that made up the forest floor and Prompto just barely gripped his elbow in time to keep him on his feet.

“My thanks,” Ignis murmured as he righted himself. Prompto swallowed and felt his cheeks grow hot, shifting his grip to only loosely hold the blind man’s hand once Ignis had found his balance again. Still, it felt nice to be useful, even in this small way. It was something towards repaying his debt to Ignis, in any case.

“No problem,” he muttered, shoving the water bottle into a pants pocket to leave both hands free in case Ignis stumbled again. Ignis moved more carefully after that, however, and there were no other close calls before the trees opened into a clearing with a simple wooden house nestled in the middle of it. 

A low stone wall encircled the house, more of a hut really, only a few feet high but clearly built by hand. The stones had been carefully arranged so that they fit together most effectively based on their natural shape. Prompto couldn’t help but think of the time it must have taken to build even such a low barrier. The creek of wood made him look up, and Prompto saw the door swing opened and an old woman dressed all in black step out. She wore a cloak over her dress, the hood partially hiding her gray hair, and several beaded necklaces clacked together around her neck as she moved. Noctis and Gladiolus had stopped short and as they caught up, Prompto shot a glance at Noctis and registered the barely contained shock on the King’s face.

Clearly they were thinking the same thing: if witches really did exist, then this woman was one and no mistake.

“Hello, dearies,” she greeted them warmly, stepping up to the opening in the low stone wall. “Is it I, Kimya, you seek?”

“Um…” Noctis said, and got an elbow in his back from Gladiolus for his mumbling. “I mean, yes! Yes. Kimya Auburnbrie? Dave’s aunt?”

The old woman nodded at him and her bright eyes traveled over the group. Prompto watched them move over Noctis and Gladiolus, on to Ignis until finally they stopped just to the side of the Advisor. They weren’t quite on Prompto, her gaze aimed a bit over his head, but it was a close enough guess to send a chill down his spine.

“Not many travel here,” she said, eyes flicking back to Noctis. “An unusual problem, you have? Help, I may be able to. Or I may not.”

“What’s the deal between you and the hunters?” Gladiolus asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest. He was wearing a jacket but not shirt beneath it. Prompto couldn’t be certain from where he stood, but when Kimya turned to him she kept her eyes down in such a way that he felt sure she was addressing the bird head on his chest.

“Because a strong enmity towards me, they bear. Cast me out into the forest, they did. ‘A witch,’ they called me.” There was no ire behind her words, no answering bite of anger. She said it with the same simple acceptance that Prompto felt towards his invisibility. It was a fact of life, and nothing more. The others were more incredulous, by comparison. Gladiolus snorted and exchanged a look with Noctis while Ignis shifted his weight beside Prompto and lowered his chin, his jaw tightening against whatever words he was holding back.

Kimya only shrugged, her necklaces twinkling merrily as she moved.

“Brew potions, I do. So a witch I must be,” she said simply. He gaze moved towards Prompto again and she planted her hands on her hips. “Four of you, I sense, yet only three I see. That is why you are here, is it not?”

A stunned silence followed her words before Ignis lifted his chin and cleared his throat.

“Indeed, Miss Auburnbrie. We had hoped you might be able to help,” he said. Prompto turned his head to look up at Ignis, their hands still firmly clasped. He didn’t speak as if they were virtually strangers. Even the way Kimya had said “Four of you” seemed to imply a much stronger connection than a few shared meals and a car ride. Somehow, Prompto had seemed to slip into their group dynamic entirely seamlessly, as if he’d always been there.

“Come closer, dearie,” Kimya said, breaking into his thoughts. “A better look, Kimya needs.” She gave him a wink at her own joke and held out her arms as if she were expecting a hug. Prompto hesitated, reluctant to leave Ignis’ side. The Advisor didn’t say anything, but he did squeeze his hand. Prompto wondered how many times he’d done that in the last day. A dozen? Maybe more?

Sucking in a deep breath, he let his hand slip free of Ignis’ warm leather glove and took a few stilted steps forward. The leaves rustled and shifted under his new boots. One could almost imagine it was the wind, except that the air in the forest was still as the grave.

At last he stopped before Kimya. Her hands came down gently and found his shoulders after a moment of searching. She wasn’t as sure of his position as Ignis, but she seemed to have a better grasp of it than Gladiolus or Noctis could manage.

“Oh,” she breathed, letting her hands drift up to cup his cheeks briefly before moving downward to pat down his arms. “Skin and bones, you are! Poor dear!” Ignis’ similar observation from the day before rang in Prompto’s ears and he looked down at the way his boots displaced the carpet of leaves beneath him. No one had been able to see him blush for as long as he could remember, and yet he always looked away regardless. Perhaps it was human instinct.

Kimya’s hands clapped his shoulders again, startling him, and she hummed quietly to herself.

“Come in, you had better, and tell Kimya how this happened. Brew you something, I will. Though only tea,” she said with a twinkle in her eye, “for now.”

* * *

Just as the day before, Prompto was provided with a cup of tea, though this blend was spicier than what Ignis had given him yesterday. They were each given a cup, in fact, though Prompto was the only one to do more than take a few polite sips of his. The foreign taste didn’t seem to agree with the others, but Prompto knew better than to turn down food or drink of any kind when it was freely given.

The sight of watching his teacup float through the air was apparently still bizarre to Noctis, who kept sneaking glances at him, but Kimya barely batted an eye at the odd spectacle. She asked a few leading questions and then, once again, Prompto’s life was being recounted in detail. Only this time, he wasn’t the one telling it. Maybe it was in deference to his raw throat or simply their own excitement over the fantastic tale, but Noctis and Gladiolus kept talking over one another as they verbally sparred to fill the “witch” in. Ignis remained quietly sitting by Prompto’s side, only speaking up a few times to correct them or elaborate a point. It wasn’t until they got to the fateful meeting in the market the day before that Ignis took over the narrative completely.

Prompto listened as if he hadn’t been there, taking in every detail. Ignis was a more restrained storyteller than the King or his Shield, but there was a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth the entire time he recounted the circumstances of their chance meeting. Prompto felt his own wrist when Ignis described him as “bony” and wondered if he really was that skinny. He rarely got three meals a day, after all, but it wasn’t as if he could look in the mirror and check. It occurred to him that being described as such should have been insulting, but Ignis didn’t say it in a demeaning or even pitying tone. He simply stated it as a fact, and he wasn’t wrong either. Prompto’s arms wrapped around his loose fitting, borrowed t-shirt and felt the way his ribs stuck out even through the fabric.

It seemed that bony truly was the most honest descriptor.

The sound of his name interrupted his thoughts and he turned his attention back to Noctis, realizing that they’d reached the end of their joint recounting of his history.

“So, we weren’t sure what to do, right? So we called around and we’ve gotten to be pretty good friends with your nephew, Dave. He said he was stumped, but he thought if anyone could help it would be you,” Noctis finished all in one breath. He sounded less like a King and more like a kid explaining why his homework was late to a teacher. He was about the right age for it, too, which didn’t help. There had been plenty of speculation on the radio about whether or not Noctis was mature enough to step into his expected role as King following his father’s untimely death, but Prompto hadn’t ever paid either side of the argument much attention. Now that they’d met, though, he had to believe that Noctis would make a good King. After all, not just anyone would drop everything to help a stranger. He knew that better than anyone.

Kimya, meanwhile, hummed and moved to stir a pot set over the fire. About halfway through their conversation she’d started getting up every few minutes to either stir it or add ingredients from various jars scattered across her mantle.

“An interesting story, you have,” she commented as she moved the big wooden spoon in the pot.

“So you think you can help?” Noctis asked.

“Perhaps,” Kimya replied simply. Noctis blew out a breath and visibly relaxed back into his chair. Beside him, Gladiolus tilted his head as he watched the old woman’s back.

“So what’s that? A potion to turn Prompto visible again?” Gladiolus wondered. He was answered with a cackle that left no question as to why Kimya was called the Witch of the Woods.

“Lunch, this is,” she responded, still snorting laughter between her words. Gladiolus grumbled something and looked away, cheeks turning pink. Kimya, apparently satisfied for the moment, left the pot again and marched over to Prompto’s chair.

“Stand,” she commanded. Prompto swallowed and glanced at Ignis. There was no way the Advisor could have heard him look over, but he must have sensed the move somehow because he nodded. Unseen, Prompto nodded back and set his teacup down before standing.

Kimya felt for him again and laid one hand on his head and the other on his chest over his heart. She closed her eyes and hummed under her breath. Several long moments passed where nothing happened. Then her eyes opened and she nodded to herself and returned to stirring her stew.

Prompto watched her back in something like shock, his hands moving to touch the places where hers had been only a moment ago. He fisted the loose t-shirt in one hand and ran the fingers of his other through his own bangs, tugging at them lightly.

“And?” he asked finally, when no one else spoke. “Can you help me?” There was an edge to his voice that surprised even him. When they had first set out in the car he had simply been happy to be clean and fed and still sitting by Ignis’ side. Now, he realized too late that he’d made the grave mistake of allowing himself to hope. There were few things in the world more dangerous than hope. His hands dropped to his sides, the fingers beginning to tremble as he anticipated her answer before she’d even said it.

“Cursed, you are not,” Kimya said simply. “A problem that Kimya can solve, this is not. Only you can, dearie.”

Prompto stared at her without seeing her, ignoring the hot liquid dripping down his cheeks or the way his throat constricted around the words as he choked out, “But…I don’t know how. That’s…that’s why we’re here.”

He nearly jumped when he felt a warm hand find his, enveloping his shaking fingers. Blinking furiously, he glanced over to find Noctis and Gladiolus both carefully looking at the floor as though they could see his tears. When he turned his head even Ignis was looking away, offering only his silent support with the steady grip on Prompto’s hand.

There was a quiet, hollow sound as Kimya banged the wooden spoon against the lip of the pot and set it aside before beginning to ladle the contents into wooden bowls. She brought the first two over to her little table and stopped before Prompto again. Her eyes found his this time and he sucked in a breath, sure for the second time in his life that someone was truly _looking _at him.

“Only one true path, there is not,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Follow not others, but your own heart, you must.” She patted him once and then turned to dish up the rest of the soup. Despite his ever-present hunger, Prompto didn’t sit again until Ignis tugged on his arm and even then he only ate mechanically, barely tasting the meal.


	7. Chapter 6

They didn’t stay long after finishing the meal Kimya had offered them. It was some kind of meaty stew, but even though Prompto had been careful to eat his single helping slowly it churned in his stomach. It didn’t help that the meat had been chewy and far greasier than he was used to. Apparently the others felt the same, as no one had asked exactly what they were eating. As they said their goodbyes outside her hut, he half expected his companions to part ways with him right then and there. After all, the “Witch of the Woods” had been their only solid lead and surely a King and his entourage had better things to be doing. 

Ignis never let go of his hand, however, and so Prompto let himself be led back to the car. Once again Noctis and Gladiolus had pulled ahead of them and Prompto could hear snippets of their conversation, which mostly consisted of Gladiolus gloating about how curses weren’t real while the King hotly defended himself. Ignis kept pace with Prompto’s slower steps, however, perhaps sensing his disappointment or maybe simply to avoid tripping over unseen detritus hidden in the leaves again. 

“Don’t be discouraged,” Ignis said, just quietly enough so that the other half of their group wouldn’t hear. “We know now that whatever is afflicting you isn’t magical, at least. That’s progress.” 

Prompto kept his head down, watching his invisible steps displace leaves and twigs as they went. He squeezed the hand still in his grasp and drew in a breath before forcing a note of cheer into his voice. 

“You’re right,” he agreed, trying his hardest to sound hopeful. He wasn’t sure he was succeeding. “And thanks. Really. You guys didn’t need to come all the way out here for a stranger like this. I really appreciated all your help.” Ignis frowned behind his dark glasses and Prompto bit his lip reflexively. 

“Prompto,” Ignis said carefully. “I do hope you don’t imagine we’re giving up on you.” He spoke louder than before and Noctis and Gladiolus both stopped to turn back towards them. 

“What?” Noctis asked, folding his arms over his chest. Not for the first time Prompto thought he looked more like a sullen teenager than any King, especially dressed in a black t-shirt emblazoned with the white outline of a wriggling fish. 

“I…well…we hit a dead end,” Prompto floundered, feeling his cheeks heat up. 

“Yeah, and?” Gladiolus asked. It sounded so much like a challenge that Prompto would have shrunk back a step, except that doing so would have meant letting go of Ignis’ hand. 

“You don’t even know me!” Prompto cried, equal parts confused and exasperated. 

“So?” Noctis said simply. “We’ve helped plenty of people we didn’t know. Even made friends with a few of them, right Gladio?” 

“Right,” Gladiolus agreed with a simple nod and a grin. Prompto blinked at them until a tug at his hand made him turn his head towards Ignis. 

“Prompto, if you didn’t think we considered you a friend, then that’s my failing,” the Advisor said. The frown had smoothed from his high forehead and he wore a warm smile that made his high cheek bones seem even more prominent than usual. Prompto drank in every detail, Ignis’ hand a warm weight in his own. He hadn’t bothered to put his gloves back on after taking them off to eat. 

“You…think I’m a friend?” he asked, embarrassed even further by how small his voice sounded. 

“Of course!” Noctis answered before anyone else could. He looked between the three of them: the King, the Shield, and the Advisor. Noctis looked somewhat annoyed but also desperate, somehow. Prompto got the feeling he didn’t have many close friends beyond the two he was traveling with and was trying not to show it. Gladiolus was gazing in Prompto’s general direction with a look on his face like he might yell or burst into laughter at any moment, Prompto couldn’t decide which. 

And as for Ignis, the Advisor was still smiling at him though the expression had grown even gentler, if that was possible. 

Prompto couldn’t stop a pathetic sniffle from escaping him and he scrubbed at his eyes with his free hand, squeezing Ignis’ fingers as hard as he could while he held his breath to stop the sob that wanted to burst out of him. 

“Hey…” Noctis sounded worried now, but Prompto couldn’t bring himself to look up and see his face. Despite his death grip, Ignis’ hand slipped free of his and Prompto almost let the sob slip free after all. Before he could, though, he was pulled against something warm and solid and long arms wrapped around his body. Their hold was secure, but not so tight that he couldn’t pull away if he really wanted to. He blinked the tears from his eyes and saw the purple coeurl print of Ignis’ shirt filling his vision. A wracking gasp escaped him instead and he wrapped his own arms around the lithe Advisor, fisting his hands in the soft dress shirt. A hand came up to cup the back of his head and long fingers wove into his unkempt hair. 

“Whatever has happened to you, it is cruel,” Ignis said with a fierceness to his voice that Prompto hadn’t heard since he’d caught him with the apple. “No one should be alone, Prompto. Not ever, but especially not for so long. It’s true, we’ve only known you for a short time, but I for one can say with certainty that you do not deserve any of this.” 

The words went straight to Prompto’s core and seemed to bounce around inside of him. And then the floodgates opened and the next thing he knew he was sobbing into Ignis’ carefully pressed shirt, held up by strong arms and surrounded by the scent of lavender. He wanted to stop. He didn’t want his new friends to have to see him crying like a baby. But Ignis’ words seemed to be playing on repeat in his head. 

_No one should be alone…  
_

_…you do not deserve any of this.  
_

_…it is cruel.  
_

Neither Noctis nor Gladiolus came closer or made any comment while he cried himself out. Ignis, meanwhile, simply held him until he’d exhausted himself.

* * *

The sound of a car door slamming woke Prompto up sometime later. He didn’t quite remember how he’d come to be asleep in the back of the Regalia, but he had a vague impression that Ignis had managed to guide him to the car before he outright collapsed in the woods. 

Rubbing his eyes, he sat up and saw the red tint of sunset on the horizon. Lestallum was nowhere in sight. He felt like a rock had been dropped into his stomach. The seat must have squeaked under him as he moved, or maybe he made some other noise, but in either case a hand gently patted his knee, making him jump. He whipped his head around to find Ignis offering him another of his gentle smiles. 

“We can’t make it to Lestallum before nightfall, and as I’m sure you know the roads aren’t safe at night,” the Advisor said gently. “Not to worry, though. There’s a Haven and we have camping equipment. Gladiolus even thought to pack a spare bed roll.” 

“Oh…okay,” Prompto mumbled, groping for the handle on the car door. He had no idea what a Haven was, but Ignis made it sound like a safe place, as the name might imply. It turned out that a Haven was little more than a raised circular rock formation by the side of the road. There were intricate runes carved into its surface and Prompto watched in fascination as they began to give off a soft blue glow when the sun set and night took hold. 

He wasn’t much use at helping them set up camp, not in the least because Noctis and Gladiolus couldn’t track his movements and kept bumping into him. After the third time he’d nearly tripped the Shield while trying to help set up the chairs, Prompto simply elected to perch on a rock at the edge of the Haven and gaze out over the flat plains. He could hear the soft growls of daemons in the distance, but only just. They didn’t seem interested in coming anywhere near the Haven. 

He stayed there until Ignis announced that dinner was ready. It seemed that they always kept at least canned goods in the car, just in case, and he’d managed to make something that smelled divine out of mostly bread and a can of beans. Noctis looked practically horrified at the meal, but a playful offer from Gladiolus to force-feed him had the King grumbling and accepting a plate. Prompto didn’t feel much like eating himself, but he knew better than to turn his nose up at a meal and took a plate of his own. 

Gladiolus talked animatedly about the book he was reading all through the meal—something about martial history and a particularly interesting battle he’d just read the details of—but Prompto was only half-listening. He tossed his paper plate into the fire when he was finished and watched it curl in on itself from the heat before returning to his rock at the edge of the Haven. 

No one tried to stop him. 

The sound of footsteps sometime later made him turn his head and he was only mildly surprised to find Ignis approach with a cup in his hands. 

“No tea, I’m afraid, though we have Ebony. Even if it is of the instant variety,” he said, holding the cup out. The slight grimace he wore told Prompto exactly what Ignis thought of instant coffee, and he smiled despite himself as he accepted the cup. 

“May I join you?” the Advisor asked next and Prompto shifted on his perch to make room. 

“Sure,” he said. His voice had grown hoarse again from all the crying that afternoon, so he took a sip of the coffee to help soothe it. “Thanks,” he added quickly. Ignis settled himself beside Prompto and turned his face into the gentle breeze that was coming from the empty plains. He was still wearing his glasses, even at night. Prompto remembered the brown scars that only just peeked around the edges of the frames and wondered for the first time if Ignis wore the dark shades more out of vanity than anything else. It was a strange thing for Prompto to consider, but then he couldn’t remember a time when he’d ever needed to be concerned with how he looked. 

One of the perks of being invisible, he supposed. 

“I know we all had our hopes dashed today,” Ignis said at last. Prompto sat up a bit straighter at that and glanced behind them. Noctis and Gladiolus were buried in a phone and a book, respectively, and either couldn’t hear them or had decided not to interrupt their conversation. 

“All?” Prompto repeated, turning his attention back to Ignis. The Advisor hummed and tilted his head towards Prompto. 

“Of course,” Ignis said simply. “Gladio would never admit it, and I’m sure Noct doesn’t want to hurt your feelings, but I know they are both curious about what you look like.” Ignis’ lips quirked into a smile that could only be considered teasing. “As you can imagine, it wouldn’t make much difference to me.” 

Prompto digested that while he took another sip of the coffee. Somewhere in the distance he heard a roar. Possibly from an Iron Giant or some other large daemon. 

“If it doesn’t make any difference, then why does it matter?” Prompto wondered after a moment. Ignis had a point. Whether he was visible or not, Ignis would still be blind. Essentially, their relationship wouldn’t change. If anything, being visible would make Prompto less valuable, less of a curiosity. He wondered again: if he was cured, what reason would there be for his new “friends” to keep him around? 

“Prompto,” Ignis sighed. He sounded…tired. The change in tone had Prompto focusing on him again instantly. Dark glasses stared back at him. In fact, Ignis had shifted his entire upper body to give Prompto his full attention. Almost hesitantly, Ignis lifted his hands. His fingers were still gloveless from cooking. They found Prompto's shoulders first, much like Kimya had done earlier that day, but instead of moving down they moved up, skimming over Prompto's shoulders and ticklishly grazing his neck until at last they found his cheeks. Prompto held perfectly still, half out of shock and half out of bliss, as those fingers mapped his face: the outline of his chapped lips; the thin cheeks that were more pronounced than they probably should be from years of scarce meals; his thin nose; the soft skin of the sunken flesh around his eyes; and, finally, brushing his bangs away to feel his smooth forehead. Prompto didn't realize he was leaning into the touch until Ignis pulled back, a sad smile tugging at his lips. Suddenly Prompto was very aware of how hard his heart was beating against his breastbone. 

“It matters because you deserve to be seen,” Ignis said. He almost reached for Prompto’s hands, but seemed to stop himself at the last moment, letting his hands drop back into his own lap instead. 

“I’ve been thinking about something Miss Auburnbrie said. She said this was a problem only you could solve. I’m still not precisely sure what she meant, but, Prompto…” Ignis paused and licked his lips, considering his words before he seemed to force himself to continue. “Do you _want_ to be seen?” 

Prompto almost dropped his cup in shock. He managed to regain his grip, though some of the coffee dripped onto the stones near his foot. 

“What? Of course I do!” he cried. He ducked his head and glanced at Noctis and Gladiolus again before repeating more quietly, “Of course I do. You think I want to be like this?” 

“No, no, nothing like that,” Ignis said and sighed again, long and world weary. “I’m simply…not sure what to think at this point, truthfully. If your condition had been caused by a daemon there would surely be other cases, but there are none. At least none that we can find. It’s only that, when you’ve ruled out the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth, that’s all.” Ignis ran a hand through his hair, dislodging a few strands from his careful styling to hang down over his brow. 

Prompto stared into his half empty coffee cup, the liquid a black void against the white ceramic in the night. 

“We should turn in soon. Your bed roll is the one furthest from the tent door,” Ignis said at last. He patted Prompto’s shoulder and stood. Prompto stayed where he was long after he’d left. He didn’t move when Noctis and Gladiolus announce that they were turning in either. He sat there for a long time, holding the empty cup in his hand and listening to the sounds of creatures moving in the dark. 

Eventually, he did move, but he never went near the tent. Instead, he curled up by the dying fire on his side. The ground was smooth and free of any rocks that might dig into his sides, and he suspected he’d sleep better outside than tossing and turning on the thin cushion of the bedroll inside the tent. Hard stone beneath the stars was what he was used to, after all. 

Even so, sleep was a long time coming and the sky was beginning to lighten with the impending dawn before he finally drifted off.


	8. Chapter 7

A strange whirling sound woke Prompto the next morning. The noise was accompanied by an unnatural gust of wind that pulled at his hair and clothes and kicked sand into his eyes. 

“Imperials! Above us!” Ignis shouted. Squinting, Prompto could just make out his companions stumbling out of their tent as it threatened to fly away in the breeze. It seemed that while the Haven might keep daemons away, it did little to protect them from the few rogue elements of the Niflheim army still at large. While the War was officially over, there were quite a few squadrons that either hadn’t gotten the message that their Emperor was dead, or didn’t care. 

Prompto stumbled to his feet as a dozen armed troops jumped from the airship. The fall should have shattered their legs, but all of them pulled themselves upright like dolls on strings and rushed the Haven. Their movements were jerky and unnatural, and years of avoiding people in the crowded market made it easy for Prompto to slip through their advancing ranks and escape. 

He was halfway down the slope to the Haven when he realized his friends weren’t following him. 

Skidding to a stop, Prompto turned with wide eyes. All three of them had materialized weapons from thin air, just as Prompto had seen the Shield do two days ago. Gladiolus swung his impossibly large sword, knocking the Niflheim Magitek troops off their feet. Most of them stumbled up again after only a few moments, however. Noctis seemed to switch weapons every time Prompto blinked and he kept disappearing in a burst of blue sparks only to reappear on the other end of the Haven and attack their enemy from behind. Meanwhile, Ignis had produced two wicked looking daggers and was wielding them with deadly precision. Watching him, Prompto never would have guessed he was blind. In fact, Ignis seemed to be the only one actually taking down his targets, while Gladiolus and Noctis only seemed to be inconveniencing them more than anything else. 

Prompto’s hands curled into fists at his side. He should be doing something to help. He had no weapon of his own, true, but these were his friends and they were badly outnumbered. 

“Hey!” he shouted, picking up a rock and hurling it at the nearest Magitek infantryman. The rock bounced off his helmet and the soldier turned his head for a moment. But of course he saw no one there and turned his attention back to rushing Ignis. 

“Hey!” Prompto shouted again, throwing another rock. This one missed completely and again he was ignored. Three of them were closing in on Ignis now, trying to pin him against the tent. They each had polearms and Ignis ducked and weaved as they swung at him, but it was only a matter of time before one of them found their mark. 

Prompto’s palms were sweating. His heart was beating somewhere in his throat while his stomach clenched and roiled. 

They couldn’t see him. How could he draw their attention away if they couldn’t see him? 

The sound of gunfire ripped through the air and Noctis dissipated in a shower of blue sparks seconds before bullet holes peppered the ground where he’d been standing. He reappeared behind the one who had fired with a sword in his hand, the handle looking almost like it belonged in a motorcycle engine. Noctis took a step and used the momentum to swing the sword at the Magitek soldier’s head. 

_Noctis watching in fascination as he drank from his teacup. Endlessly entertained and even amused by Prompto’s simple presence._

Gladiolus roared and swung his sword again. One soldier managed to jump back but another was caught full in the side and tossed aside like a ragdoll. The Magitek soldier had barely hit the ground before he was pushing himself back to his knees, however. Meanwhile the one that had dodged took advantage of the opening left by Gladio’s wide swing to dart forward. 

_Gladiolus constantly assessing Prompto, always wearing an expression that was somewhere between weary and intrigued. Calmly agreeing that Prompto was his friend._

Ignis executed a flip to both dodge the polearms and put some distance between himself and the tent. He’d barely landed when a fourth soldier was on him, a cry ripping through the air as the soldier’s lance pierced the Advisor’s shoulder. Blood splattered onto the runes carved into the Haven. 

_Ignis holding his hand. Ignis cooking for him and reminding him to drink his tea. Ignis telling him not to be discouraged. Ignis holding him while he cried. Ignis. Ignis.  
_

“IGNIS!” Prompto shouted. The world seemed to hold its breath. All eyes turned to him. Not in his general direction. They turned _to him_. 

Prompto looked down at himself. Pale, skinny arms sprouted out of a black t-shirt that seemed two full sizes too big for his frame. Black jeans were held up by a tightly cinched belt and ended in black boots scuffed with dirt. Something yellow framed his vision, and it took a moment for him to recognize what it was: his hair. He looked back and found a dozen masked faces staring at him. His eyes flew to Ignis’ face, twisted in pain, and then found Gladiolus’, locking onto warm brown eyes. 

“Kid,” Gladiolus breathed. Then he drew in a larger breath and bellowed, “RUN!” 

Prompto nearly tripped as he whirled on his heel and took off. He could hear the clank of at least some of the soldiers following him. So there was that, at least, not that he had any idea what to do now. 

_‘You wanted their attention. Well you’ve got it now, genius,’ _he thought as he ran. He almost turned towards the car, but changed course at the last minute. Noctis would never forgive him if the Regalia was destroyed because he’d tried to hide in it like a frightened child. 

_‘So, now you’re visible for the last five minutes of your life. Nice going.’_ He shook his head, as if that could clear the internal commentary, and kept running. It was the only thing he could think to do. 

The clanking behind him began to lessen and he chanced a glance over his shoulder. His pursuers had lessened to four, with two already peeling off to head back towards the Haven. Apparently they must have realized he was no real threat and decided to turn their attention back on the King and his entourage. Well, Prompto couldn’t have that. 

“Hey!” he shouted, skidding to a halt. Now out on the open planes, there were several larger rocks and he just managed to lift one with both hands. One of his last two attackers turned back, but the last one kept charging. A yell that felt nearly primal tore itself out of Prompto’s throat and he heaved the rock over his head before hurling it at the approaching Magitek soldier. It connected solidly with its head, shattering the green mask that covered the soldier’s face. 

The soldier stopped, stumbled, and gave a garbled cry, bringing its hands up to try and shield it’s pale skin from the sun as it fell to its knees. Prompto didn’t stop to question what was happening, just grabbed for the rock again and brought it down as hard as he could on the soldier’s helmet. The armor caved with a sickening crunch and a jolt ran through the soldier’s entire body before it stilled and slumped over onto the ground. 

Prompto stood over the dead soldier, panting. He had never hurt anyone before, let alone killed anyone, but weren’t the Niflheim soldiers robots or something? He thought he’d heard that on the radio once, but there was so much propaganda floating around it was hard to know what was true. In any case, his friends still needed him. 

He didn’t let himself think. He just acted. Reaching down, Prompto pulled a gun from a holster on the dead soldier’s thigh and raced back to the Haven. Oddly enough, though he’d never held a gun before in his life, it felt like a familiar weight in his hands. He used both hands to steady the weapon and aimed at the head of one soldier far enough towards the edge of the Haven that there wasn’t any risk that he might accidentally hit one of his friends. 

He pulled the trigger and the soldier fell. He lined up another shot and that soldier fell, too. Over and over again he did it. Pull, _bang,_ fall. Pull, _bang, _fall. Until at last he pulled and nothing happened. He tried again, but the gun only clicked in his hand, like a dying breath. It was out of bullets. 

Slowly, he lowered his arms. Most of the soldiers had fallen now, littered around their trampled camp. With an animalistic yell, Gladiolus took the head off one and Noctis skewered another with a lance and then there was silence. Ignis stumbled, clutching at his shoulder, but a second later Noctis was at his side breaking a crystal vial against the wound and Ignis straightened, the bloodstains on his torn shirt the only remaining evidence of his injury. 

Prompto drifted back towards the Haven as if in a dream, letting the gun fall from his numb fingers as he came closer. The noise made Ignis turn his head, while Gladiolus and Noctis were already staring at him. Noctis’ mouth was opened while Gladiolus’ was drawn into a thin line. 

“Prompto?” Ignis called, a note of panic in his voice. Prompto opened his mouth to answer, but stopped when he saw Gladiolus grab for Ignis’ arm to herd the Advisor behind him. It was the same stance the Shield had taken when they’d first met in the hotel room: placing himself between Prompto and the others. 

“That’s far enough, kid,” the Shield called down to him from the Haven. Prompto stopped beside a dead soldier. Gladiolus leveled his massive sword at him with a grunt. 

“What is it? What’s going on?” Ignis asked. For the first time he sounded frustrated to not be able to see what was happening for himself. He tried to pull away from Gladio’s grip, but the Shield held fast. “What in the world is the matter?” Ignis demanded. 

“He looks like one of them,” Noctis said so softly that Prompto almost didn’t hear him. Prompto blinked and looked down at the soldier at his feet. Sure enough, the faceplate was cracked on this one, too. He could see pale skin with a smattering of faint freckles. A single sightless blue eye and the hint of blond hair poking out around the helmet, the same shade as the hair that was currently framing Prompto’s vision. Prompto stumbled back and looked at himself again, noticing for the first time a mark like a barcode imprinted on his right wrist with letters and numbers around it. His blood turned to ice. 

People didn’t have barcodes. 

He nearly tripped over himself as he turned. Ignis called his name again, and so did Noctis, but he didn’t stop. 

For the second time that morning, Prompto ran.


	9. Chapter 8

It was more disorienting than he might have thought to be able to see his feet while he ran. It made his steps feel heavy and clumsy, and he seemed to have a talent for catching the toes of his boots on every stone in his path. 

He didn’t make it much farther than he did the first time before a sword suddenly sprouted out of the ground in front of him. Prompto pulled up short with a cry as Noctis materialized in front of him in a shower of blue sparks. 

“Prompto! Wait!” the King gasped. Prompto took a step back and tripped over the body of yet another of the fallen soldiers. One of the fallen soldiers that apparently had his face, not that he he knew that for sure yet beyond the hair. He cowered as Noctis took a step forward, but the sword was gone now. Noctis held out both empty hands palm out, a universal sign for, “I won’t hurt you.” Prompto swallowed. 

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but just calm down, okay?” Noctis said, even as Gladiolus bellowed his name. Prompto could hear the Shield’s heavy footsteps coming up behind him and scrambled back to his feet, looking between the approaching Shield and Noctis. Ignis was coming as well, but too slow, forced to pick his way more carefully to avoid the bodies that he couldn’t see strewn in across the dust. Prompto turned back to Noctis, locking eyes with the young King properly for the first time since they’d met. 

“Do…do I really look like them?” he asked, nodding at the dead soldier at his feet. Noctis dropped his hands and his lips drew into a grim line that looked entirely wrong on him. 

“Yeah,” he finally said, rubbing the back of his head with one hand. “Yeah, Prompto. You do…but! But I _know_ you’re not bad or anything! We’re friends, remember?” 

Friends. They were friends. The question was, did Gladiolus still believe that? Prompto turned to face the oncoming Shield, only for the wind to kick up again and a familiar droning to fill the air. 

“The hell? Not again!” Noctis shouted. This airship descended much closer than the first one had and when the hanger door opened, no army poured forth. Instead, a single man stood in the entryway, grinning as he waved down at them with one hand and held his hat on his head with the other. 

“Hello, there!” the man called over the sound of his own ship. Noctis lowered his arms, which he’d raised to summon his swords again. 

“It’s the Chancellor,” Gladiolus growled out, making Prompto jump. When had the Shield gotten so close? He hadn’t been speaking for Prompto’s benefit, though, as Ignis drew up beside him. 

“Chancellor Izunia?” Ignis asked, a note of incredulity in his voice. 

“Well, ex-Chancellor if you want to get technical,” the man called back. “Just Ardyn is fine. I can hardly be Chancellor of a defunct government, now can I?” 

“Would you shut that thing off or land it already?” Gladiolus called back. He was still the only one wielding a weapon. At least now it wasn’t pointed at Prompto any longer. Ardyn laughed. 

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? No, I think it’s better for all parties involved if I stay up here while you stay down there.” Ardyn’s eyes fell on Prompto and his grin widened impossibly. “And as for _you_, we’ve been looking for you for a very long time. Our little wayward experiment gone awry.” 

Prompto felt his mouth go dry, his hand automatically coming up to clutch at the front of his shirt over his heart. The soldiers had burned in the sunlight like daemons, but the sun didn’t bother him. Besides, he could feel his heart hammering away beneath his hand. That had to mean something, right? 

“Such a shame we lost track of you when we did, too,” Ardyn continued, and Prompto couldn’t hear it over the roar of his ship’s engines but he could imagine the mournful cluck of his tongue that surely accompanied the words. “You were going to be such a_ good_ little Lucian spy. We even gave you a proper name and everything—which you can thank yours truly for,” Ardyn added while sketching a quick bow. Prompto remembered Ignis saying that his name had sounded Insomnian and felt bile climb up the back of his throat. 

Before he could think of a response, Noctis had taken half a step in front of him. 

“Leave him alone!” the King shouted. It was perhaps the single most childish thing he could have said, but Prompto didn’t care. In that moment he wanted nothing more than to throw his arms around Noctis whether he sounded regal or not. 

Ardyn’s grin didn’t waver. 

“You can put the sword away,” he said, addressing Gladiolus with a wave of the hand not holding onto his hat. “He isn’t going to harm you. What you’ve found there is a very…special case that we thought we’d lost. How did you manage to keep yourself hidden all this time, I wonder?” Ardyn tilted his head up as though in thought, but the question was rhetorical. A moment later he snapped his fingers, though the sound was lost over the noise made by his airship. 

“Of course! You must have activated your camouflage. Too bad. There’s a reason we eventually phased that out, you know. They could never seem to figure out how to turn it off again, you see.” 

Prompto slowly lowered his eyes to the dead soldier at his feet again. Camouflage? 

Ignis’ voice drifted through his head again. 

_“Prompto…do you _want_ to be seen?”_

“Prompto isn’t anything like these things!” Noctis shouted back, and now he did draw his sword with the sound of breaking glass and a burst of blue sparks. Ardyn abandoned his hat to hold up both hands, palms out. Somehow the battered fedora stayed on his head despite the wind. 

“Oh, heavens no. Our mutual friend there is much more special than any of those broken little toys. In fact, you yourself could learn so very much from him, Your Majesty. All it would take is a few routine tests. And a dissection of course.” 

The sound of breaking glass split the air again and now Ignis was holding his daggers as well. Gladiolus glanced between his companions and smirked, widening his stance and bending his knees as if getting ready to strike. Prompto watched all three of them with wide eyes and an opened mouth. Were they…defending him? 

“We happen to like him just the way he is, thanks!” Gladiolus shouted. Prompto’s breath lodged in his throat. 

“Indeed. If you so much as touch him, you will be exceeding sorry,” Ignis spat next. Wet heat burned at the grit in Prompto’s eyes and made his vision blur. For the second time that day his body moved without his permission. He dropped to a crouch by the fallen infantryman and retrieved a fresh sidearm from the soldier’s holster, raising it to aim it at the hat on Ardyn’s head. The magenta haired man never lost his grin, but he shook his head at the group of them. 

“Fine by me. Far be it from me to comment on who—or what—the King chooses to spend his time with,” he called down. 

“Get lost,” Noctis yelled back, but the hanger doors were already closing, Ardyn waved at them almost cheerfully once more as they slammed shut and then the airship was rising into the air and speeding across the cloudless sky. Prompto kept the gun raised, aimed at empty air, until a hand on his arm made him realize he was trembling. With a gasp, he dropped the gun and turned to look at Ignis, not sure when the other man had put away his daggers. Or moved, for that matter. 

“I…I’m not like them,” he repeated Noctis’ earlier words. He hadn’t exactly understood all of what Ardyn had said, but he wasn’t a threat and he certainly wasn’t a spy. And he wasn’t anything like the _things_ that had attacked them. 

Ignis didn’t wait for the tears to come this time before pulling him into his arms. 

“No, of course you’re not,” he said into Prompto’s hair. “You’re much too gentle and kind.” 

“Yeah, Prom,” Noctis added, and Prompto shivered at the affectionate shortening of his name. “It doesn’t matter to me where you came from.” A hand slapped Prompto on the back. “Right, Gladio?” Noctis added for good measure. The Shield grunted but Prompto heard the twinkle as he finally dematerialized his sword. 

“He’s right. And besides, you saved our asses back there,” Gladiolus admitted. “Don’t listen to whatever that guy was talking about. He’s got a few screws loose anyway.” 

Noctis made some sort of noise of agreement, but Prompto barely took note of it as Ignis pulled back to hold him at arm’s length. His hands moved up to Prompto’s shoulders and then, gingerly, cupped his cheeks. 

“Is it true? Are you visible now?” Ignis asked. Prompto laughed, more out of fear and exhaustion than anything else, and felt the tears finally spill over to slide between Ignis’ fingers. 

“Y-yeah. I guess I am,” he choked out, raising his own hands to cover Ignis’. 

“Prompto, that’s wonderful,” the Advisor said with a genuine smile. Prompto couldn’t help but return the smile, though it pulled at his chapped lips and made his cheeks hurt. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d truly felt like smiling. 

“Yeah. Yeah, it is,” he agreed before launching himself at Ignis for another hug.


	10. Epilogue

Prompto looked at himself in the mirror. He was far from vain, but a week simply wasn’t enough time for the novelty of it to wear off yet. He did indeed have blond hair, as yellow as a sunflower, and bright blue eyes. They weren't blue like water the way Noct's were. Prompto's eyes were closer to the sky just before dusk, a clear blue with a hint of violet swirling in their depths. Freckles dusted his nose and cheeks, spreading down his shoulders and arms in scattered constellations. In fact, when he stripped in front of the mirror, they seemed to coat his entire body all the way down to his toes. Tiny marks that he'd never even known were there. Something about that made them feel special, an unexpected surprise. 

He had his own clothes now, most of them black thanks to Noct’s influence though he had won the argument for coeurl print pants, much to his King’s obvious disgust. Both Noct and Gladio had agreed it was best to keep his barcode hidden, even though not many had seen the faces beneath the masks that Magitek troops wore, and a new black leather bracelet adorned his right wrist. His hair had been trimmed, by a professional for once, and he was still experimenting with styles. His favorite so far was a kind of swooping up-do not unlike what Ignis preferred but focused more to the side than on his bangs. 

Noct said it made him look like a chocobo’s butt, but he liked it all the same. 

Whatever he’d expected when they’d returned to Lestallum, Ignis’ words in the forest had proven true. His new friends weren’t interested in abandoning him just because he was no longer invisible. Neither were they interested in doing any kind of tests on him to find out exactly how he’d managed it either, it seemed. So Ardyn’s parting words hung as the empty threat that they were. 

Prompto hadn’t tried to turn invisible again, partially because he didn’t begin to know how and partially out of fear he’d get himself stuck again. He still had no memory of anything before a decade ago, no idea how he’d come to be in the countryside outside Lestallum or how he’d managed to be alone in the first place. When he thought about it, he supposed he must have turned himself invisible initially out of instinct, the same way a frightened child pulls the blankets over their head. Noct told him that they had boxes of records from the raided Niflheim labs back in the crown city of Insomnia, however, and he was sure the answer would be somewhere in there. 

In the meantime, the exact why’s and how’s seemed less important with every passing day. They had stopped in Lestallum for much longer than originally intended, but that was largely because Noct refused to leave the city without his new friend as an official part of his entourage and that seemed to require quite a few long conference calls, many of which required Ignis’ help to explain and vouch for Prompto to the politicians waiting at home. 

While his friends were busy with all of that, Prompto spend his afternoons in the market. It was strange revisiting his only “home” for nearly a decade. He didn’t take anything, nor did he have the money to buy anything. He simply walked the stalls and was occasionally surprised and flustered when a vendor singled him out to try and sell him some trinket or a bit of food. Politely declining them was an art he was still trying to master and more than once he’d had to have Gladio nearly bodily drag him away for the good of everyone involved. 

For years he’d longed for the attention of the vendors, but now he was discovering that their attention was rarely as comforting as he had once imagined. 

Last night he had snuck out of their comfortable room for one final night as the Spirit of the Market. He’d brought along Ignis’ sewing kit and his own old clothes and used the worn shirt and jeans to patch every awning in the place. They would be leaving today, and he’d felt he needed to give one last thing back to the place that had kept him alive for all those years. 

“Prompto?” Ignis’ voice called, knuckles wrapping gently on the bathroom door. 

“Just a second!” Prompto called back. He splashed cold water on his face to wash the dust of the market off and hardly bothered with the towel before emerging into the main suite. The bags of their things were waiting near the door. Prompto had a bag now, too, though it was only a tiny duffle bag for now. He didn’t have many things, after all. 

“I hope you were able to get some sleep last night,” Ignis said as Prompto closed the bathroom door behind him. “I know the beds still aren’t quite to your liking, but it’s worrisome to wake up and find you…gone.” 

Prompto swallowed and forced himself to take a step to close the distance between himself and the Advisor. 

“Sorry, Iggy,” he said quickly. Once Noct had begun shortening his name, he’d found it easy to do the same with each of his friends. They weren’t simply strangers helping him out of the blue anymore, after all. “I’ll get used to it eventually.” 

“I’m sure you will,” Ignis replied. He was clearly aware of Prompto’s proximity, as he tilted his head down, but he made no move to put distance between them. 

“Hey, Iggy,” Prompto began, looking everywhere but at the Advisor’s face. 

“Yes, Prompto?” 

Prompto bit back as sigh. Ignis really wasn’t going to make this easy for him, was he? 

“So…there’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while now. Kinda since I met you actually. So, I’m just gonna do it, okay? And I’m sorry if it’s really stupid or something, alright?” he rushed to explain. A small, teasing smile had begun to pull at Ignis’ lips as he bumbled along and before Prompto could lose his nerve he leaned up and pressed his lips to Ignis’. 

He remembered when he’d first met Ignis and how he’d thought his lips looked so thin, drawn into a disapproving line. Feeling them now, however, they weren’t thin at all. They were full and warm and wonderfully smooth against the healing chapped roughness of Prompto’s own. The kiss only lasted an instant before he pulled away, dropping down from the balls of his feet to let his heels hit the carpet. The smile seemed frozen on Ignis’ face and his eyebrows were raised behind his dark glasses. 

Prompto spluttered out another apology and started to turn away, but as always Ignis seemed to anticipate his every move and managed to catch Prompto’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. He hadn’t put his gloves on yet and the slight calluses on the pads of his fingers pressed into Prompto’s skin. 

“I wouldn’t call that stupid at all Prompto,” Ignis murmured. “In fact, I’d rather say you read my mind.” 

Then the Advisor leaned down to kiss him again and Prompto’s eyes closed all on their own. In the darkness behind his own eyelids it didn’t matter if he was visible or not, if he owed any debt for every touch and act of kindness, if he was human or something else. He was just Prompto and Ignis was just Ignis. And that was enough.


End file.
